


God Help Me, Part 11--All The Way to The End

by ErinGayle



Series: God Help Me [12]
Category: Jojo Rabbit (2019)
Genre: Alcohol, Drug Use, Homosexuality, M/M, Self-Harm, Smoking, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26914282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinGayle/pseuds/ErinGayle
Summary: It takes a lot to wind up war.(Character deaths are not gory, gruesome, or explicit, but they happen.)
Relationships: Freddy Finkel/Captain Klenzendorf
Series: God Help Me [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819291
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10





	1. April 1, Easter Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> I do not consider Jojo to be a perfectly reliable narrator simply due to his age.

Freddie turned over and immediately missed Karl. His side of the bed was empty and judging from the coldness of the sheets had been for a long time. Freddie sighed deeply and debated just letting Karl do whatever he was bound to. The thought he might have to clean up after Karl motivated him just enough to get up. Freddie dressed and set the percolator on the stove. All he could see out of the wet windows was grey sky. Not a very stunning Easter. While waiting for the coffee, Freddie went downstairs to the office. Karl was in there at his desk with some opera on the gramophone and an open whiskey bottle. 

“Karl,” Freddie called as he walked across the office.

“Freddie,” Karl answered tiredly. He sipped at his whiskey then bent over a ledger book. 

“I’ve got coffee going upstairs.”

“Thanks,” Karl said without looking up.

“What’re you doing?”

“Writing my memoirs,” Karl mumbled.

Freddie had no idea if Karl was being serious or not. Instead he went to the window and looked out it. “You have got to be kidding me,” he whispered incredulously. “IT’S EASTER! It’s snowing on fucking Easter!”

Karl suddenly burst out in drunken laughter as his head bent to the pages he was writing. “I know!”

Freddie stared out at the snow. “This is the most fucked up place in all of goddamned Germany! Snow on Easter?!”

Karl was still laughing. “Yeah, I know. It’s really wet though, so it won’t last too long.”

Freddie could only shake his head. He still hadn’t heard from any of his family. “I don’t know where I’m going when the war ends, but it won’t be in the fucking mountains. Goats are all that ought to live up here.” Freddie looked over his shoulder at Karl. Karl had barely smiled in the last few weeks. Now he was laughing at the absurdity of the weather. Karl was still laughing as he reached for a cigarette. 

“What’s on the record?” Freddie asked. He recognized the language as English, but the words were pure grief. Karl’s music choices had taken a decidedly melancholy turn.

“ _Dido’s Lament **[1]**_ by Purcell. Our hero Aeneas has just sailed away from Carthage to go found Rome, abandoning the beautiful Queen Dido, who kills herself with her own sword despairing for her lost love.”

Freddie just didn’t say anything. The gramophone needle slipped over toward the record’s label, and he went to change it. “What’s this one?” he asked about the next record on the stack, Tchaikovsky’s Sixth, Movement Four. He’d learned in the last year that the classical music names never really described the actual theme of the music.

“ _Symphony Pathétique:_ _Adagio Lamentoso._ ”

Freddie shook his head and flipped through the records for anything else. The Party had banned just about all good, modern music. He found the 1812 Overture. “What about this?” he asked holding it up. 

Karl nodded, and Freddie put it on the gramophone then sat on the fainting couch. Karl took out his watch. Twelve minutes into the overture, Karl looked up and watched Freddie tapping his fingers to the music. At the first cannon shot, Freddie threw himself into the floor. 

“We’re taking artillery fire!”

Karl leaned down around his desk, laughing. “It’s the record. The original sheet music calls for real artillery.”

Freddie looked up dismissively. “Officers.”

That evening, Karl tuned the radio in their apartment to the station most likely to play Party approved swing. Freddie was more than happy to be swept off his feet. Karl’s sudden interest in dancing was a relief from his recent despondency. As a boy, Freddie had never thought himself a good dancer but rather a forced dancer. His older sisters grabbed him and made him dance with them at home. He’d shied away from dancing when he was first in the army and dragged out to clubs by his friends. His friends relied on him to line up pretty girls with an unspoken assurance none would be interested in him since he didn’t dance. He had been utterly uninterested in the girls anyway, but he kept that to himself. Now he and Karl could dance all the wanted together. 

“Come on, Freddie. God gave you joints. Use them,” Karl coached as he twirled Freddie around then spun him out. Karl was behind Freddie with his hands on Freddie’s waist. “Put some hip into, Sergeant,” Karl gently laughed.

Freddie turned in Karl’s arms. “Maybe you should put some hip into something.”

Karl’s eyebrows reached up. “Oh really?”

“Really,” Freddie said as he leaned in to kiss Karl. His hands were on Karl’s back and slid down to press their hips together as the song changed to a slower tempo one. 

Karl kissed Freddie as his hand pulled at the hem of Freddie’s shirt. “Well, I guess I just need to teach you how to samba.”

“And how close do I get to hold you in a samba?” Freddie pushed down on Karl’s braces and lifted his shirt over his head. He slid his hands beneath the ribbed undershirt.

Karl smiled. “Not very, but lots of hip.” Karl’s fingers were dipping beneath the back waist of Freddie’s trousers.

“Screw it then.”

Karl danced toward their bed. “That sounded like an invitation.” He twirled Freddie around suddenly, ending with Freddie’s back to him. Freddie took off his own braces and shirt while Karl’s hand slid down into Freddie’s trousers and his other caressed Freddie’s chest. He kissed Freddie’s cheek and along his jaw. Freddie leaned his head back on Karl’s shoulder as he unbuttoned his trousers to make more room for Karl’s hand. He went slowly, making Karl wait. Karl gently pushed Freddie onto the bed and softly fell behind him. They finished stripping each other slowly. Karl kissed Freddie down his arms and across the back of his shoulders. Karl’s hand eased over Freddie’s hip to his butt. 

“I have to say, Finkie, I’d like to just hold you down and fuck you hard.”

“Yeah?” Freddie chuckled. “So, why don’t you?”

Karl paused a moment before his hands were on Freddie’s butt. Freddie gasped a bit at how quickly Karl penetrated him. Karl’s hand in the middle of his back shoved his chest against the mattress and then Karl’s weight held him down. Freddie relaxed his arms on either side of his head and closed his eyes. Karl was fast and forceful, but before he came his hands shot up Freddie’s body. Karl twined his arms and then his hands with Freddie’s. Freddie felt Karl’s forehead on his shoulder and heard Karl’s breath catch. Karl’s fingers quivered and relaxed. Freddie reached back, finding the back of Karl’s head. He rubbed his hand through Karl’s hair.

“I love you,” Karl whispered. “I really do.”

Freddie stroked Karl’s nape with his thumb. “I know you do, Karl. And, amazingly, I still love you.”

[1]The saddest four minutes in opera. _Thy hand, Belinda... darkness shades me; on thy bosom let me rest; more I would, but Death invades me: death is now a welcome guest! When I am laid, am laid in earth, may my wrongs create no trouble, no trouble in thy breast; remember me, remember me, but ah! forget my fate. Remember, but ah! forget my fate. https://tinyurl.com/yxmv3lqy_


	2. Monday, April 2

Two-thirty am was a good time to catch everyone asleep. Karl tried to put the key in the lock and turn it as silently as possible. Every minute scrape sounded more like a scream. Carefully, he pressed down on the handle and slowly opened the door. He’d never noticed a squeak, but he’d never listened either. Once in the house, Karl closed the door and took off his boots. He left them by the back door and tiptoed upstairs. Every time his foot hit a squeaky board, he waited for the lights to flash on and a shotgun to be shoved in his face. He made it upstairs and into Rosie’s room. Quietly, he closed the door and turned the lock. He switched on the bed table lamp. The bed was made, but Karl picked up Rosie’s pillow and smelled it. It still smelled like her, like lilies and jasmine and maybe a hint of whiskey. 

Replacing the pillow, he crossed the room to the vanity table. Her brush was there, a few red strands hanging off it. Her makeup was left the way she had last used it. He swept her compact and some other bits of it into his pocket. Karl opened her wardrobe and began feeling along the shelves and groping the sweaters, almost overwhelmed by her scent still on her clothes. His fingers ran over something that felt like lacquered linen, and he pulled down a black photo album. It was the one Rosie and he had looked at. Karl ran his fingers over the frilly, hand-written gold lettering. _Berlin, 1925-1933_. If he knew Rosie, every photo was captioned on the back in sweeping letters. Her penmanship always had a flourish to it. He assumed it was from learning Chinese calligraphy as a child. 

Karl slid the album back onto the shelf and continued feeling for the cardboard boxes. He finally found them as far back in the deep wardrobe as possible. He visually checked the shell counts then dropped the boxes in his coat pocket and turned to step out into the bedroom right into the six inch barrel of an old _Kriegsmarine_ Luger[1]. “How did you get in here?” he asked.

“I might ask you the same question.” Elsa stared Karl right in the eye.

Karl held up his key. “I have a key.”

“So, do I,” Elsa responded, holding up the bedroom door key. 

“Do you have a plan for disposing of my body if you have to use that?” Karl watched Elsa’s hands.

“Call the Gestapo,” she answered simply. “Tell them some pervert was rummaging around in my mother’s clothes. Who knows? Could be one of those dangerous litterers they like to hang.”

Karl sighed but kept his eye on Elsa’s trigger finger. It was hard to see if the safety toggle was on or off. “Is the safety on?”

Elsa shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

Karl shook his head. “Do you mind if I come out of the wardrobe?”

“Why are you here?”

Karl decided to tell the truth. “I wanted to get some ammunition I brought over for Rosie. May I come out or not?”

Elsa stepped back and nodded. She watched Karl and noticed how his great coat pockets sagged. “So, what if we have some bullets?”

“Is that thing even loaded?” Karl didn’t want to lose his life to an errant shot. Elsa frowned and shrugged. “Can I see it?” he asked holding out his hand.

Considering whether she should give up the slight advantage a pistol gave her over a man, Elsa relented. He had lied to the Gestapo for her. Had Deertz looked at Inge’s _kennkarte_ , she, Jojo, and the captain would have been in a dire predicament. “Ok. But, you can’t have it.”

Karl carefully pushed down on Elsa’s forearm and took the pistol from her once it was aimed at the floor. He sat down in Rosie’s reading chair. “Come here. This is an old naval version of the Luger. The Admiral had two. See this? That’s the safety. It’s on. Push the little switch up, and its off. That’s when you can kill someone.” Karl flicked the toggle back to safe and pulled out the magazine. “If you had any bullets.” He showed her the empty magazine. “Now, check the chamber. See how the little door bends to open? And, it’s empty.” He sniffed the barrel. It was recently cleaned. Rosie may have had ammunition for it. Karl looked up at Elsa. “Did you find the second one?”

Elsa nodded. “We found lots of stuff. Pictures, letters, some money. But, no food. Just jam.” She looked down at him. He had been so much more frightening a few weeks ago when he lied for her. “Why did you lie to them?”

Karl shrugged. “I’m not fond of seeing anyone on the gallows, let alone a young girl.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

“What was me?”

Elsa rolled her eyes. She wasn’t a child, like Jojo. “Some days she was just happier. And, sometimes in the morning I could smell shaving soap, like my father used.”

Karl sighed. Outed by the scent of shaving soap. 

“Did you love her?”

He looked at her. She did have mischievous blue eyes.

Elsa smiled a bit. After Jojo declared them boring, she’d looked through the photos and recognized Karl, but she hadn’t pointed him out or lingered over them. Too many of the photos were of him and a young Rosie holding, kissing, or gazing adoringly at one another. “There was a poem in the old photos. It was so beautiful. _But my tongue is frozen in silence; instantly a delicate flame runs beneath my skin; with my eyes I see nothing_.[2] Did you write that?”

Even though he was suddenly Furious that she had read the last love letter he ever wrote Rosie, Karl barely flinched. This girl wasn’t Inge, no matter what he might imagine his goddaughter to have been like. He owed her nothing more than keeping a secret he had midwifed. He stood up to leave and handed back the Luger. “Don’t load that. Put it away. You two don’t need to be fooling around with it. You’ll just hurt yourselves or someone else.”

“Who wrote the poem?” Elsa persisted, ignoring the pistol in her hand.

“Sappho,” he answered flatly. Karl walked to the door and down the stairs followed by Elsa. He stopped at the back door and pulled on his boots. A vicious anger was surging through him, and he didn’t want to let it loose on the girl. She’d done nothing more than read a poem he’d copied. Rosie had made her own choices; Karl knew he had to make peace with that. It was not Elsa’s fault Rosie was dead. And, he wouldn’t be nearly so angry if Jojo were asking these questions. Jojo he owed.

Romantic imaginings began to whirl in Elsa’s mind. She almost wanted Karl to stay longer despite his brusque disposition. Conversations with Jojo could get tedious. “Was Rosie your long-lost, true love?” 

Karl sternly glanced at Elsa, and she looked away at the wallpaper. His blind eye burned at the raw and delicate nerve on which she had just tread. “Lock the door, Elsa.” 

Slipping into the depth of a silent Easter night, Karl disappeared into the alley. He took a meandering walk home that lead him to brazenly cross the _marktplatz_ in front of the Gestapo headquarters at nearly 3 am. The two SS privates on guard saw Karl’s bad eye glowering at them and looked away.

Sitting down at her desk, Gerti stared at the morning mail envelope. She hadn’t heard from Sebastian since January, and that was a card he hastily scribbled off at the end of November 1944. Every day she checked both the office mail and her own mailbox with fear that she would see his name on an official notification. There was no news. Her neighbors would come to her and ask if the captain had any idea where their husbands’, sons, brothers’ and fathers’ units were. She always silently shook her head. That was information that Captain K wouldn’t share if he did know. 

“Good morning, Fraulein Rahm,” Karl said as he dragged himself in from command and staff.

Gerti glanced up at Karl. Most recent Mondays he looked terrible. Today he just looked hung over. “Heil Hitler, Captain K.”

“Oh, Heil Hitler to you, too.” Karl continued to his office where he dropped his increasingly heavy and increasingly irrelevant briefing book on his desk then himself on the fainting couch.

Gerti heard Karl groaning and mumbling about the headache he had. She didn’t suggest he quit drinking. Whiskey and cigarettes were his only comfort now that Rosie was gone. She took a deep breath and opened the envelope. On top were the latest conscriptions. She didn’t even look at that list. She wanted to scour the big list of casualties. Setting that aside, she looked through the weekly orders.

“Fraulein Rahm, I’m going upstairs for a cup of coffee,” Karl said as he walked by.

“Do you want to see the conscriptions? You know, for a laugh?” she tried to ask light-heartedly.

Karl sighed and held out his hand. Looking over the list he saw the names of boys he knew were barely fit to stay home unsupervised. He started shaking his head. “Jojo Betzler,” he said softly. “I’m sure a child whose mother was hanged by the Gestapo is going to run right out to the recruiting station as ordered.” He dropped the list in the trash and reached into his pocket for his matches. He’d run out of lighter fluid and none was to be had. He lit a cigarette then dropped the match into Gerti’s trashcan.

Gerti’s eyes widened. “Don’t do that! You’ll set the whole office on fire!” she yelled as she jumped up to stamp out the flame.

“Let it burn, Fraulein Rahm. Just let it all burn,” Karl told her as he walked away.

Gerti exhaled a frustrated growl and pushed her blonde waves off her forehead. Certainly, those doctors out at the hospital noticed the captain could use some kind of pick-me-up pills.

Upstairs, Freddie was peeling a few spotted potatoes. He had some shriveled parsnips, turnips, a few onion tops, and some potato flour. What he really needed was an egg, but he wasn’t getting one until tomorrow. Karl had promised to go looking for some on the farms then. Freddie heard the apartment door open and close.

“Good news, Freddie. The Reich just conscripted Jojo Betzler.” Karl walked over to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“End of days, Karl.” Finished with preparing the day’s meal for the oven, Freddie sat down next to Karl. Freddie had convinced the children to stay out of the office until nine. Every day Karl drove by every bakery he knew trying to buy enough bread to at least give each child a slice. Where once they only stored ammunition and weapons in the locked arms room, they now also had a few boxes of jam from various farmwives. Freddie didn’t want to think about how much of his own money Karl was spending. Karl didn’t have anything to really trade for food, and the farmers knew it. They took the deflating currency out of respect for Karl. 

Freddie reached over and rubbed Karl’s hair. “Hey, you’re wearing major’s boards.”

Karl nodded. “Oberst Doctor St. Johannes promoted me this morning.”

Freddie turned Karl’s head. “That’s great,” he said smiling. “Long overdue, too.”

Karl nodded. “Get myself a better spot in the execution line.”

“Karl,” Freddie said in exasperation as he pushed Karl’s head. 

“Hey, now Sergeant, that’s assaulting a field grade officer. I’m not some little company grade minion anymore.”

Freddie grabbed Karl around the neck and kissed him. “So, when do I get an invitation to the fancy teas all the other major’s wives go to?”

Karl light-heartedly pushed Freddie away while ruffing his hair. “Save yourself and always have something else to do. You don’t stand a chance against those very polite wolves.”

Karl took his coffee back to the office where Gerti ambushed him with her broad grin. “Congratulations! You’ve been promoted! The children will be so excited to have a…”and Gerti saw the major’s epaulettes. “A ceremony,” she said with quiet disappointment.

“Oberst St. Johannes surprised me, too, this morning, Fraulein Rahm. I would have been thrilled for the children to have a party, but it’s not a good time.” Karl took one of Gerti’s hands and held it gently between his own. “Maybe in the summer when things have calmed down a bit.”

Gerti nodded, but she knew that people left Falkenheim not came back. “Are you being transferred?”

“Not yet,” he reassured her.

[1] A standard Luger P08 has a four inch barrel, while the naval version, P04, has a six inch barrel. They were made until 1917/18 and apparently bought with little _Kriegsmarine_ acquisitions testing. The longer barrel was meant for ship-to-ship fighting by the crew over a distance of 100-200 meters. The Luger was tested by the US Army, but mass manufactured Lugers did not use .45 caliber ammunition, which was required by the Americans. Luger declined to create more .45 versions for more extensive tests and withdrew from the opportunity to become the next pistol of the US Army.

[2] Sappho, Fragment 31. Translated by Julia Dubnoff. https://www.uh.edu/~cldue/texts/sappho.html


	3. Saturday, April 7

The coal had run out, and Karl was back to taking cold showers without the solace of an occasional hot bath at Rosie’s. He stood in the bathroom trying to warm himself with a vigorous and rough toweling off. When he was dryish, he wrapped the towel around his hips and stared in the mirror. His hair was getting long, but he barely cared. Freddie would decide when he needed a haircut and give him one. He picked up his straight razor to shave. As he held the razor on his neck, he pressed the blade straight down just enough that a tinge of blood welled up. He pulled his hand away. He knew exactly how much pressure was needed to slit a throat. Most people thought Poland had been no more than a Sunday drive. He’d been in the nasty part and found himself fighting with only a knife and a rifle butt at times. 

After he shaved, Karl wiped his razor clean and put it back in the kit bag. His hand hit against something round and smooth. He knew it was Rosie’s compact. He stared at his eyes, one brown the other a useless milky blue, and picked up Rosie’s eyeliner. Back in Berlin she had put it on Karl the days she thought he needed to look a little more alive or less hungover, but it was always subtle enough that no one had ever asked. He carefully traced along his upper and lower lids. Next was the mascara. He rubbed the brush along the narrow cake and brushed it through his upper and lower eyelashes. He could see his eyes already looking brighter and his lashes longer and fuller. The eyeshadow was the hardest part for Karl. He had never had a decent appreciation of shading. Rosie had always put dark grey or silver eyeshadow on him. He brushed the silver across his eyelid then shaped the dark grey in the crease as well as on each end of the crease and up to his eyebrow. He left his browbone bare. He gently smudged the places where the silver and grey met. It took him longer than Rosie could do it, but the results weren’t too terrible.

“Karl, breakfast is ready,” Freddie called from the kitchen. 

Karl hastily shoved Rosie eye makeup back into his bag and quickly rewashed his face. He had no idea how Freddie felt about eye makeup. After he washed his face again, Karl checked his neck. The little laceration was red, but it wasn’t bleeding. It was probably safe to put on his shirt.


	4. Monday, April 16

Even though St. Johannes held command and staff on weekends, Karl always looked like he’d been hit by a tank on Monday mornings. After a grim meeting during which Karl explained the tactical situation across southern Germany, the hospital commander and his only real maneuver officer retired to the office. Without being told, Karl took off his _feldbluse_ and shirt and sat on the exam table.

“Your lungs sound worse today,” the doctor muttered as he listened with his stethoscope. 

“We ran out of coal two weeks ago, and it is a cold, damp spring.”

“Coughing up blood?”

“No.”

“I’m concerned about TB. I don’t have a test, and I can’t waste an x-ray on you.”

“Neither can you convalesce me to Morocco.” 

“Headache? Light sensitivity?”

“I’d like to work from a basement these days.”

St. Johannes tested Karl’s good eye. “How much Pervitin did you take this morning?”

“Two.”

The doctor sighed. That was the recommended dosage. “Take anymore today, and the migraine will be back.”

“You know, it never really leaves.”

“You can get dressed. You aren’t in enough physical pain for a morphine shot.” He returned to his desk and lit a cigarette. Karl followed, sat down in one of the guest chairs, and reached into his pocket for his sunglasses to defend against the expansive, east facing window. St. Johannes tossed a file folder across the desk. “That came in this morning.”

Resignedly, Karl opened the folder prepared to read orders that they fight to the last toddler. “Is this a joke?” he asked incredulously.

“No, _Oberstleutnant_ Klenzendorf. Someone has had the bright idea that they are going to park a limping division filled with semi-ambulatory casualties right here to defend the old border.” St. Johannes reached into his desk and pulled out a set of lieutenant colonel’s epaulettes, a large pharmacy bottle, a bottle of whiskey, and two glasses. He poured two glasses of whiskey and pushed one to Karl. “My congratulations on your most recent promotion, return to the Heer, and assumption of command. _Ave Imperator, morituri te salutant_.[1]”

Karl smiled and shook his head then raised his glass in return. “ _Aut non_.[2]”

“You think you can successfully defend the town?”

“No,” Karl said as he finished his glass. “But, I do think we can surrender to the Americans and wish them well in their future endeavors. What’s the big bottle for?”

“The last of our Pervitin. Use it judiciously, Karl. Let me reiterate: I don’t want to end my career up against a wall in the motor pool or freezing to death in some prison camp in Siberia.”

Karl tiredly crossed in front of Gerti’s desk returning her and Magda’s greetings with a barely lifted hand salute. He closed his office doors with a loud bang. Surveying his office, he saw something that was more a kindergarten directress’ office and not a regimental commander’s. The children had tacked up drawings around the room in the last month as well as photos they had taken with Karl’s camera. He made sure they wrote the names on the backs. He could hear Freddie on the field phone. As Karl sat down, he opened his daily ledger book and began to write out a list of things he needed to do to close down the Hitler Jugend and turn the building into a regimental headquarters. Firm knocking at the door didn’t interrupt his thoughts. “Come in.”

Freddie walked in with a set of notes. “Sir, the division is what’s left of 114th Panzer. You are the commander of 189th Motorized Infantry Regiment with two battalions and some support elements. Everyone’s down to at most fifty percent strength, with about twenty percent under eighteen years old. No towed artillery is left. No tracked vehicles except at the Division Staff. Low on food, low on fuel. The one thing they have is ammo, which they looted from Second Panzer.”

“God forbid a Panzer division commander not have his tank,” Karl muttered.

“Apparently, He does. Anyway, they are all beat to hell.”

“How’d they loot ammo from Second Panzer?” Karl asked lighting a cigarette. He’d have Freddie close the door on the way out so Magda and Aggy didn’t see him.

“A Brigadier Eichhorst apparently masterminded the whole thing. He had sheaves of paperwork that overwhelmed a few sergeants. Plus, he wears a cape which he flips around and confuses people.”

Karl started to laugh. “Florian Eichhorst?”

“Yes, sir. Do you know him?”

Karl nodded. “We’re in good hands, Finkle. He’ll probably victimize a few other units before he gets here. When are they due?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Karl looked past Freddie to Gerti’s desk. “Now for the unhappy duty of firing Gerti.”

“You don’t want to keep her for a secretary?”

Karl shook his head. “She needs to go home and take care of her kids and mother.”

“She knows something’s up,” Freddie warned.

Karl sighed and crossed to the outer office. “Fraulein Rahm, can I speak to you for a few moments. Magda, why don’t you and Aggy go see if there’s any _Jugend_ stuff downstairs?”

Magda raised an eyebrow. Of course, there was _Jugend_ stuff downstairs. “Yes, Captain K.”

Gerti stood up. She tried to control the shaking in her hands and lips. “You got promoted again. And, there’s this memo to turn over the building to an active division.”

Karl took the shivering paper. “Yes. I’m expecting my regiment tomorrow morning. Which means, we have to close down the _Jugend_.”

Gerti tried to nod knowingly. “Yeah. The children would just be in the way.”

“And one of my staff sections is going to need your space, as well.”

Gerti was more shaking than nodding. “Of course.” She felt tears slip over onto her cheeks. She had no idea she would be so upset to lose her job.

Karl handed her a handkerchief. “I’m sorry it has to end this way, Fraulein Rahm. You’ve done a lovely job. I’m certain after the war, everything will work out fine.”

Gerti nodded as she tried to blot away the tears without ruining her makeup. “The front is coming this way, isn’t it?”

Karl nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you think my Sebastian will come, too?”

Karl set his hand on Gerti’s shoulder. “I don’t know. I know where they are, and it’s a tricky spot. They may decide to surrender rather than fight on. At a certain point, a commander has to know when to save his men’s lives rather than fulfill the mission.”

Gerti was almost fully crying. “The Führer will think of something. He’ll save us. I know it.”

It pained Karl that Gerti was still so devoted to the Party that had so recklessly destroyed not only their country and the rest of Europe but which seemed intent on destroying the German people as well. He patted her arm and went downstairs to find Aggy and Magda. They were standing on chairs taking down Hitler Youth decorations. “You anticipated what I was going to ask next, Magda.”

Magda only half smiled. “Is Fraulein Rahm’s husband alright?”

“As far as I know, but starting tomorrow, you two will need to stay home or go to your aunt’s. I’ve been transferred back to the Army, and a regiment will be headquartered here.”

Magda shrugged, as if it didn’t bother her. “Ok. Do you think Hans Wendt will be with them?”

Karl shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s been a lot of consolidation of units. Why are you interested in Hans Wendt?”

“He’s her boyfriend,” Aggy sang out teasingly.

“He is not!” Magda yelled at Aggy. “He’s just my friend.”

Aggy was grinning. “They used to go to the library and smooch in the atlas section while planning their honeymoon safari to the Obewobewango Swamp.”

“It’s the Okavango, Aggy!”

Karl felt the first genuine smile he thought he’d had in days. “Well, that sounds like just the kind of thing you should do when you’re fourteen.”

“Fifteen. My birthday was last month.” Magda hopped off the chair and tried to neaten the pile of swastika pennants. 

“Congratulations then.” Karl took a deep breath. “Magda, once the division gets here, you need to stay away from the soldiers. And, if the Americans or Russians take the city, stay away from them, too. They’re men. You don’t need to be making friends with them.”

Magda nodded. “Jakob says the same thing.”

Karl sighed appreciatively. “Good.”

Freddie saw Gerti, Magda, and Aggy out at noon and locked the doors behind them. He returned upstairs for a paltry lunch with Karl. “Now what?”

Karl shook his head. “Magda and Aggie did a pretty good job of boxing everything up.”

Freddie looked at the floor. He and Karl had essentially lived like a couple for nearly a year. They’d slept together more often than not, moving the beds together each night and apart each morning. “Are you thinking of moving your bed down to your office?”

Karl hadn’t wanted to broach that, but it needed to be done. “Yeah. We can do that later. XO’s going to want to sleep in a bed.”

Freddie shrugged. “He can have my bed. But, not my pillow.”

Karl pulled Freddie into a hug. “You’re staying with me, Freddie. I’m not letting them stick you in some platoon. I know they assigned you to be my minder. I’m just glad we got along so well.”

Freddie smiled. He couldn’t imagine how anyone else would manage Karl. “Who was before me?”

“Sergeant Niebel. Very high strung man.” Karl reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. They were getting more expensive and harder to find. “Probably all my fault. I used to plow through nannies, too, or so my mother said.”

Freddie could believe that. Karl was headstrong and oblivious to risk, a potent yet dangerous combination. “Is this it?”

Karl lit his cigarette and inhaled from it. He sat down in a club chair and leaned his head back. “Let’s hope so.”

Freddie watched Karl for a moment then sat down on the arm of the chair. He ran his hand around the base of Karl’s skull and gently pulled Karl to snuggle against him. Karl was careful not to burn Freddie with his cigarette, but leaning against Freddie’s chest with an arm around him was reassuring and comforting. Karl gently smashed out his almost full cigarette. He’d come back to it. 

“You know, Karl, no one’s coming back in here. For hours. I have Gerti’s keys, and who knows how long it’ll be before we’re alone again.”

Karl could hear Freddie’s heartbeat. “It could be a very long time.” 

The last year had been both freeing and fraught for Karl. He had never thought about living with any of his male lovers in the past and would have laughed at such a ridiculous notion when he was young. He had a scandalous affair with a married woman that had it become common knowledge wouldn’t have made an eye blink. Perhaps an eyebrow would have been raised in disapproval, but walking home from a woman’s bed at six am wouldn’t get anyone packed off to a concentration camp. Had Rosie allowed it, Karl could have lived and slept with her every night, fulfilling a quiet fantasy of a life with his devoted girlfriend, children, and social approval. The reality of living with Freddie and the fantasy of a family with Rosie had each been gratifying to Karl, even if charting a path between the two actual people had not been so easy. But, all that was left was reality. 

“I’ve never fucked a colonel before,” Freddie mused as he grazed his fingernails along Karl’s neck.

“I have,” Karl sighed. “Very uneven performances. It’s obvious most don’t get promoted due to their homoerotic skills.”

“Can’t be. The German officer is the most proficient and efficient war machine in the world.”

“They’re like old Lugers—finicky, prone to misfire. They have to be test driven individually,” Karl warned.

“I suppose I’ll just have to start with you then,” Freddie declared before he leaned down and kissed Karl, slipping his hand into Karl’s white shirt.

Karl lay across the foot of the bed, and Freddie smiled at him from the pillows. “Do you feel alright, Karl?”

Karl shrugged. “I don’t vomit so much, but the nausea is still there.” He ran his finger across the top of Freddie’s foot. “You have nice feet,” he said, changing the subject.

Freddie smiled. “Do I?”

Karl gently massaged Freddie’s sole. “There isn’t any hair on your toes. Rosie used to say mine looked like troll feet.”

Freddie laughed.

“Yeah, really. She’d wax my toes.” Karl pressed his lips against the top of Freddie’s foot.

Freddie laughed harder. “Wax your toes?”

“She had to catch me unawares first then Lise would get me with the wax.” Karl smiled as he fondly remembered how Rosie would sit on his hips, holding him down, and he would dramatically protest until Lise ripped off the wax. Those shrieks were real. He moved toward the head of the bed, kissing his way up Freddie’s legs. 

Freddie’s hand slipped over Karl’s back, and Karl laid his head on Freddie’s chest. Freddie twirled a few of Karl’s longest hairs on his finger. “Were you two really going to get married? Have a family?” It had bothered him for weeks now.

Karl slowly exhaled. “I was just trying to get her jailed or even released.”

Freddie didn’t quite believe Karl. 

Moving his bed into the alcove off his office wasn’t hard but sitting alone in the small room with a bed, the tatty armchair, and a washstand was just dreary. Without having ever slept in the alcove room, Karl missed sleeping with Freddie. Karl and Freddie decided moving the wardrobe might kill one of them, and there wasn’t room anyway. Karl’s pressed uniforms and shirts hung from hangars on some nails they pounded into the plaster. His dresser was in the office. There was no door separating Karl’s office from the alcove, which meant he’d have to keep the room picked up as everyone could see it. He didn’t know why he was worried about where Freddie was going to hang laundry. The front was coming to them, and no one worried about laundry at the front. 

Karl rose from the armchair and put on his heavy sweater to chase away the damp, spring cold. He knelt down in front of his big trunks and started to go through them. Clothes, more clothes, gear, photos. Karl opened the envelope of photos developed in March. Most were of the kids around the office or out in the woods. He paused at the one he’d taken of Rosie and Jojo and the one of just Rosie for Paul, or so he said. He smiled at the picture of him and Jojo playing that silly game. Further on were the new identity photos, and Karl removed the ones of Elsa. If he had any dangerous photos, those were them. He pulled out his pen knife and levered up the inner side of the trunk lid. He hid Elsa’s photos with the empty passports and _kennkarten_. He might still need them. 

[1] Hail, Emperor. We who are about to do salute you.

[2] Or not.


	5. Tuesday, April 17

The heavy thrum of a large number of heavy engines bored through the thick shutters and into Karl’s dully aching head around four am. Freddie was asleep on the fainting couch. Karl gulped down the whiskey in the glass and walked downstairs, turning on all the lights as he went. He opened the door and stood there smoking, wearing just his sweater against the cold, waiting for someone to ask him something.

“Is this the _Jugend_ building?” a tired sergeant of about twenty asked. 

“It is.”

“Sir,” the new sergeant yelled over the noise in the street. “This is it.” He turned back to Karl. “You know where Colonel Klenzendorf is?”

Karl flicked the ashes from his cigarette. “That would be me.”

Even in the paltry light from half blacked out headlights, Karl saw the sergeant go pale. “Excuse me, sir. I didn’t know. I’m Captain Reinhardt’s driver. He’s the XO since Major Peterson got killed.”

Karl nodded. “Captain Reinhardt,” he called over the bustle of engines and men. 

An exhausted man in a filthy uniform loomed up in the night. 

“You still have a _stabsfeldwebel **[1]**_?”

Captain Reinhardt stared mutely at Karl. After a full minute he realized someone was talking to him. “Sir?”

Karl approached the man and turned his face into what light there was. His pupils were so dilated Karl couldn’t see the color of his irises. He knew exactly how the man felt. “How long have you been on the move?” he asked the driver.

“Four days, I think, sir. I have no idea. Major Peterson was killed on April 5th , and Oberst Graf von Aichtal bought it on April 12th.”

Karl nodded. “Ok. Pass the word, I want the regimental staff here. Everyone else will bivouac over at the Brunnerbach Realschule. Find me the battalion rosters. I want to see every man myself.” Karl went back upstairs and shook Freddie awake. “We’ve got work to do, Finkie.”

Freddie sleepily sat up and yawned. “They’re here?”

“And in bad shape, too. XO’s been popping so much Pervitin for the last two weeks, he doesn’t know his own name right now. He gets your bed.” Karl sighed, then took off his sweater and put on his _feldbluse_. It was time to go to work.

Karl held the battalion rosters in his hands while he and the battalion commanders, two majors quietly walked through the school halls. It was noon and most of the men were asleep on the wooden floors. “Why are the kids mixed in with the men?” Karl asked quietly. He could see some children as young as ten or eleven, usually sleeping next to a sergeant with an arm around them. 

The majors glanced at one another. “We didn’t want them. They were thrown at us,” Major Fechtner, the first battalion commander, defended. “We just started asking who had kids or younger brothers and buddying them up. We took a hell of a hit trying to keep these kids from getting killed.”

Karl looked over a room of sleeping soldiers. He moved into the middle of the corridor and crossed his arms. “I appreciate that,” Karl spoke softly so as not to disturb anyone. “I want everyone up and fed by four this afternoon. We’ll have an accountability formation, and then I want all these kids separated by age into their own sleeping quarters. Put two actual adults with each group. I heard this regiment was filled with wounded.”

The Majors glanced uneasily at each other. “Sir, we’ve been moving near constantly for the last few weeks. Major General Wehrmann kept trying to carry out his defensive orders. Ambulatory wounded who could still fight we kept with us. Anyone who couldn’t keep up, we made them comfortable, left them with some of the youngest boys, and hoped the Americans would take care of them.” Major Jürgens waited for Karl to yell at him about abandoning comrades. 

Karl just nodded his head. “Any fatigue cases?”

Jürgens and Fechtner looked at one another. Fechtner spoke up. “They’re good men. It’s just been…bad.”

“I’m not asking in order to shoot anyone for shirking. I’m asking who needs to be on light duty.”

“Everyone?” Fechtner said uncertainly. He chanced a look in Karl’s milky blue eye. All he saw was resignation.

Exhaling heavily, Karl looked past his battalion commanders. He wondered why one of them hadn’t been tapped for regimental commander. “Alright. Let’s see how things shake out the next twenty four hours. And, I want a list of every boy under sixteen.”

“Sir, are the headmaster and assistant headmaster still using their offices?” Fechtner asked.

Karl’s breath caught. “Um, no. Herr Gottlieb and Frau Betzler were unjustly hanged for treason.” Karl felt his eyes begin to ache. “Excuse me.” He abruptly left the two majors and quickly ran down the stairs to the first floor. He had never thought to clean out Rosie’s office. He didn’t even know if it was locked. He walked quickly to the administration offices. Opening the door, he was surprised Frau Krauter wasn’t at her desk fussing under the drifts of paper. There was no way anyone methodically searched the offices and left this much of a mess. As usual, the Gestapo was just throwing its weight around to sow fear. 

Karl tried Rosie’s door, and the knob turned. Her office was littered with paper and left in a shambles. He saw her diploma crooked on the wall. He grit his teeth at the anger welling up within him. He knew how hard she had worked academically to earn that diploma, how warped her life had been to support herself, and how he had selfishly failed her in those years. Karl straightened the diploma and a few other photographs of the faculty. He didn’t bother with the obligatory picture of Hitler. Karl sat down in the Rosie’s desk chair. There was a photo of Paul and Rosie on the desk, but none of Jojo or Inge. Karl tried to remember if he’d ever seen photos of the children in the office. He couldn’t and hoped Deertz hadn’t taken them.

Quickly checking through the ransacked desk, Karl found nothing of note or suspicion until he opened the deep drawer. She had half a bottle of whiskey and a spare scarf. Karl touched the soft wool scarf and picked it up with shaking fingers. It was soft gold wool like hadn’t been available for years. Karl held it to his face, the softness on his cheeks and Rosie’s scent cascaded over him. Leaning his elbows on the desk, he couldn’t hold back the tears. He didn’t hear the majors come into the office. Fechtner almost walked in but hastily retreated, pulling Jürgens behind him. 

In the corridor, Fechtner called to Freddie. “Sergeant Finkle, is it?”

Freddie, talking to several other sergeants, crisply walked over. “Sir?”

Fechtner looked terribly uncomfortable. “Um…Colonel Klenzendorf is in the headmaster’s office crying into a scarf.”

Freddie’s eyes widened, and his face went a bit pale. “We never thought about the office,” he whispered. “Frau Betzler, the assistant headmistress, was his,” Freddie paused to find the right word. “She was his….They were going to be together afterwards.”

Jürgens nodded and waved it all away. “How long has he been off the front?”

“Since Kursk, where he lost his eye and was nearly killed by a grenade.”

“He’s not a fatigue case, is he?” Fechtner asked.

“No, sir. He’s just beaten and battered. He’s been wounded five separate times. He was on Third Panzer Army staff until he told the unvarnished truth one day last summer.”

Jürgens made a nearly complimentary little sound. “He’s lucky he didn’t end up in front of a firing squad.”

Karl saw the majors interrogating Freddie. He could guess what they were asking. “Sergeant Finkle, drive me back to my office,” he said walking toward the men. “I’m sure the majors want to get themselves organized. Just be sure you pack away any personal items.”

Both majors nodded. They could see that Karl’s pocket was stuffed full. Freddie followed Karl out to the _kugelwagen._ Karl sighed heavily as he leaned his head back.

“Are you alright, sir?” Freddie asked as he started the car.

Karl held up a cardboard box of ammunition. “Nine millimeter parabellum rounds in a false panel of her desk.”

Freddie’s jaw dropped. “She had a Luger?”

Karl nodded, but he’d already been on the wrong end of one of Rosie’s Lugers. “Be careful whenever you go over there.”

[1] Sergeant Major


	6. Thursday, April 19

For a the next few days, Karl thought about nothing but where to put men and how to feed them. Every few hours he’d get a notice of some company or other straggling in to Falkenheim. He had to go to the town council and the Church for keys to the other schools in town. There was barely any resistance to the Army’s use of the schools. Many of the children in town were off on farms with relatives and friends or being kept close instead of sent to school. 

Freddie kept his eye on Karl: making sure he ate, keeping his office and quarters picked up, and enforcing Karl’s shower time in the one shower in the _Jugend_ building. Karl snapped at a captain who tried to bully Freddie off the fainting couch, telling the entire staff the only person with permission to be in his office while he was asleep was Sergeant Finkle. Freddie was embarrassed, and when Captain Reinhardt leaned over Freddie’s desk later, only glaring, Freddie explained about Karl’s special-case status. 

Freddie knocked on the door frame to Karl’s bedroom. “Sir, Brigadier Eichhorst is arriving at 8 am with a supply convoy.”

Karl was sitting in the tatty armchair smoking, his head leaned back, and his eyes closed. “Ok.”

“I have your dinner on your desk.”

Karl finally looked over at Freddie. He wanted to lay down on the bed with Freddie and feel his lover’s fingers stroke his nape while he fell asleep. “Thanks, Freddie. Freddie, I need something there,” Karl said, gesturing to the doorway.

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on that.”

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Karl said tiredly.

“I fixed Herr Rose.”

Karl stared at the ceiling. “Who?”

“The tin soldier Deertz stepped on, with the pink coat and purple breeches.”

Karl slowly smiled. It was such a small, useless, kind thing to have done. “You did?”

“Anna might wander in one day. She was never very good about staying out of places she didn’t belong. He’s in your desk drawer next to your rosary.” Freddie had noticed Karl dropped the rosary in his desk after Rosie was buried and hadn’t touched it since.

Karl finished his cigarette and stood up. He hugged Freddie’s shoulders as he walked past him to his desk. “You’re the best, Freddie.”

Freddie smiled but nervously fiddled with his pockets. “It’s Thursday night, sir.”

Karl sat down to something so unappetizing he didn’t even look at it. “Yes, it is.”

“Sir, tomorrow will be Friday night, and these guys are finally getting some energy back. We just added two thousand men to Falkenheim.”

Karl groaned. _Liberty_. “Copy the hospital’s policy.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll go call them and type it up.”

Karl opened a file with the weapons and ammunition inventory. “Thank you, Finkie,” he said not looking up.


	7. Friday, April 20

A freshly waxed staff car trailing a paltry convoy pulled up in front of the _Jugend_ building. Karl was smoking when it arrived, and he didn’t extinguish his cigarette. He heard the staff snap to attention around him. This hadn’t been his idea but Captain Reinhardt’s. The young man honestly thought some Prussian ceremony would help moral. The general in the back of the car waited for his aide to open the door and stepped out with a flourish of his knee length scarlet cape. Karl put his cigarette in his left hand and gave an old salute with his right. “Brigadier Eichhorst, sir.”

Florian returned the old salute with one of his own. “Good God, Karl. You look terrible.”

Karl looked his old friend up and down. Florian was at least ten kilos lighter and significantly grayer than when Karl last saw him outside of Moscow. “Where’d you get that cape, sir? Ladies department of Samaritan in Paris?”

“Metz opera seamstress, actually. It used to be the stage curtains.”

“It certainly looks it, sir,” Karl dryly mocked.

Florian winked at Karl. “Come here, my darling Karlchen!” Florian pulled Karl into a smiling hug and kissed him on both cheeks. 

Karl laughed. “You smell like a Parisian whorehouse.”

“As if you’d know. Show me around, and don’t be stingy with the whiskey.” Florian put his arm around Karl’s shoulders. 

Karl nodded to Freddie. “Sergeant Finkle, get these trucks unloaded.”

“Javohl.” Freddie snapped to other enlisted men and started directing them.

Karl and Florian walked into the building together and took off their caps. “Your hair is as disastrous as ever,” Florian noted as he rubbed his hand over Karl’s head.

Leading Florian into his office, Karl gestured to a decent chair while he went for the whiskey and glasses. “Still doing your Italian generalissimo act, I see,” Karl said while pouring. He and Florian used to make the rounds of all the best salons and most scandalous underground clubs in Königsberg and later Warsaw. Florian hadn’t cared that Karl picked up men since most of Florian’s best friends had been gay.

Florian laughed. “Still gets me women. How are things going here? Nice chair.”

Karl sat down in his chair. “I’m taking this home. Things here are on the precipice of disastrous.”

Florian nodded. “What’s your grand plan?”

“Defend against the Soviets, surrender to the Americans even if it gets me shot for treason.”

Florian smiled. His dark hair was streaked with gray now, much of it put there by Karl. “You always did have a death wish. You know, my health improved remarkably after you were wounded outside Moscow. So many fewer encounters with enraged Gestapo and SS assholes trying to have you executed for insubordination. And, speaking of the SS, you’re getting a Waffen-SS regiment. Colonel Hoffman.”

Karl arched his eyebrow. “Must I?”

Florian reached into his pocket and threw a brand new packet of American cigarettes to Karl. Karl didn’t ask. Florian had always been able to get anything, anywhere. “Yes. And, you have General Wehrmann’s permission and mine to tell that Waffen-SS commander to go fuck himself and keep on going all the way to Prague. They want to die by Soviet bullets, let them. Wehrmann’s done with this whole mess. Your orders are to defend the border from the East. You want to suicide and commit mass murder via the Americans, that’s on you.”

“And, the Party? We have a few true believers still around.”

Florian snorted. He leaned forward with his glass. “You know what they say, Karl. _God is in heaven_ ,” he toasted.

Karl smiled as he tapped his glass against Florian’s. “ _And, the Tsar is far away._ Let’s go look at the map.”

After an hour of catching up and a serious tour of the eastern edge of Falkenheim to discuss defense of the town, Florian Eichhorst couldn’t leave without another gratuitous show of his flamboyance. Fewer of the staff were assembled to see him off, but Florian accepted any audience he could get. “Ah, my sweetest Karlchen. I’m not leaving without another hug.” 

Karl rolled his eyes but let Florian hug him and kiss him on both cheeks again. “You’re always welcome, sir.”

“When this is over, Karlchen, Freidrichstrasse in Berlin. Hookers, bars, and brothels in every direction.”

“We may have to rebuild it first, sir.”

Florian laughed. “What’s fun without a little work first?” He grabbed Karl in a last hug. “You and me, Karl, painting the town any color we want again.”

Karl nodded and saluted, hoping Florian would get in his car. “Have a good day, sir.”

Florian winked and hopped up into his staff car. “ _Losfahren.”_

Captain Reinhardt came behind Karl as the staff car rumbled away. “Sir, is—”

“Brigadier Eichhorst gay? No. He’s the straightest man in the Heer. He used to have two or three girls at a time, in bed together. He _was_ one of the best counter-tenors in Germany back in the Twenties, and that man loves a good drag show, preferably starring him.” Karl sighed as he wanly smiled. “He’s just a little dramatic.”

Upstairs, Freddie was hanging a heavy grey curtain he’d found in the doorway to Karl’s room. Freddie heard Karl walk into the office and looked over his shoulder, his eyebrow skeptically arched.

Karl shook his head. “I know. I know. He likes attention.”

“How has he stayed out of a camp?”

Karl sat down at his desk. He reached for a file folder with details of how the regiment was going to deploy around town. “He’s straight as an arrow. He loved his gay friends, but God is gayer than Florian Eichhorst.”

That night Karl found Freddie sitting on the fainting couch sewing. “Why aren’t you out with Tekla?”

Freddie carefully laid in a run of stitches in pink fabric. “She went out to her parents’ farm last week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Freddie shrugged. “I told her I thought it was safer.”

Karl sat down in his chair. “She’s a nice girl.”

“She is, but she deserves better than being married to a shopkeeper. She should get her degree and marry another chemist.”

Karl smiled. “What is that?”

Freddie laughed. “The girls were inspired by your Wagnerian excesses. They are planning to put on Die Walküre when everyone gets home. These were some costumes they were making. I thought I’d finish them.” Freddie stood up and shook out the gray cape. “This is for Brünnhilde.”

Karl tried to smile. “I don’t think Valkyries have pink, triangular feathers.”

Freddie winked. “And this one, is for Siegfried.” He held up the red silk piano drape onto which he had sewn some fringed epaulets one of the girls found in the realschule closets. “He even has a hat.” Freddie showed Karl a feathered, Victorian bicorn.

Karl rolled his eyes.

“Come on. Try it on.”

“No.”

“Karl, try it on. Then I’ll be able to see if it’s too long for the girls.”

Karl gave in and stood up. Freddie fastened the clasps to Karl’s shoulder straps and placed the hat on Karl’s head. Freddie then put on the grey cape. 

“How do we look?” Freddie asked.

Karl just shook his head. “Indescribable,” he said with a laugh.

Freddie walked into Karl’s alcove room. There was a mirror over the washbasin. “Oh, Karl.”

Karl followed him, putting his arm around Freddie as they looked in the mirror together. “I told you we—”

“Look fabulous!” Freddie said as his smile erupted into hysterical laughter. 

“You know, this really needs more flash and sparkle. If I ever have to wear this, I want Florian Eichhorst to be begging me to borrow it,” Karl deadpanned.


	8. Sunday, April 22

Karl’s travel clock softly dinged at 5:15 am. He could already hear Freddie getting up and dressing, putting away his bedding so Karl’s office looked appropriately professional. At 5:25 Freddie would go upstairs and clear the staff officers out of the bathroom. A few of them wondered at Freddie’s commitment to Karl, but they thought he was simply an over-zealous sergeant. None suspected that this was the only acceptable way Freddie could show his loving devotion to Karl. Karl jogged upstairs in his dressing gown, showered and shaved, then came back to dress in his room. 

“Plans for the day, sir?” Freddie asked from the other side of the closed gray curtain.

“Yes, Sergeant. Confession, Mass, then I’m going fishing. Make sure the radio in the _kugelwagen_ works so you can monitor it while I’m at the river.” Karl pulled on his trousers and opened the curtain. He couldn’t give permission to the regiment to attend Mass and not go himself. 

Freddie watched Karl get dressed but didn’t enter the room. “Yes, sir. I’ll get your breakfast.”

“Can’t eat then take communion, Sergeant,” Karl said buttoning his _feldbluse_. “You have to prolong your appreciation of Christ’s agony by fasting.”

Freddie shook his head. “Catholics,” he muttered.

Karl winked. He paused by his desk and opened the drawer, contemplating the rosary for a few moments before caressing the black beads and finally dropping it into the pocket where he’d kept it for years. “Pick me up at the church at nine, Sergeant.”

Freddie lay on the tarpaulin he pulled out of the _kugelwagen_. He’d positioned it in the brightest sunspot he could find and still be able to hear the radio. Karl had chosen a new fishing spot further away from town. Freddie squinted from under his hat to make sure Karl was alright. Karl was standing on the bank the water was so cold and quickly caught four graylings. He’d prefer brown trout, but fish was fish right now. He made a fire and cleaned two to cook then. 

“Am I cooking you fish for dinner?” Freddie asked as Karl sat down beside him.

Karl shook his head. “I’ll take them back alive in the bucket and clean them in the field kitchen, then you take them over to Jojo and Inge. Make sure they know to cook them thoroughly.” Karl slid his hand over Freddie’s. “I always thought I wanted this.”

“Laying on the bank of a river in springtime fishing with your gay lover?”

Karl laughed. “Regimental command.”

“You’re doing a good job.” Freddie rubbed Karl’s back.

Karl sighed. “Command is more fun when you’re winning. I’m commanding long enough to honorably surrender as many men as possible.”

“You’re doing right by a lot of young men and kids, Karl,” Freddie reassured him. Freddie sat up and put his arm around Karl. Karl leaned over and kissed Freddie and then kissed him again.

“Are you sure, Karl?” Freddie asked with a bit of apprehension.

“I don’t care about them anymore, Freddie. I can’t lose everything.” Karl kissed his way down the back of Freddie’s neck into his collar. “If you don’t want to,….”

“Of course, I want to,” Freddie murmured as he pulled Karl down with him. “I almost always want to make love to you.”

They didn’t get too undressed. The spring sun wasn’t that warm.


	9. Friday, April 27

The Falkenheim Emergency Defense Committee held their daily meetings in the town council room at the rathaus. The cheaply done baroque room suffered from peeling mint green paint and flaking gold leaf. The dull table was worn, and it was easy to see which council members liked a drink or tended to pound out his exhortations. Herr Vogelfluss, previously the local Party’s agricultural support committee chair, was the chief of the Falkenheim _Volkssturm._ He and the Waffen-SS commander had a grand and glorious plan to save the town and begin the restoration of the Reich. 

Karl and Oberst St Johannes sat next to each other, exchanging sighs and eye rolls. The Waffen regiment was well manned and equipped, and orders from Major General Wehrmann stationed them as the initial defense a kilometer to the east of the border. SS Colonel Hoffmann balked until Wehrmann himself came to inspect the defensive line and dress down the colonel. A Heer colonel would be the senior maneuver officer in Falkenheim, and if the SS didn’t like that, they were free to keep going east. 

Karl carefully watched Herman Deertz. The Gestapo captain had been suspiciously absent from the neighborhood since Rosie’s death and the school’s closure. Karl liked to think it was because Deertz was afraid of him, but in reality Karl knew that Deertz had found someone else to harass. He was still hanging people. The town mayor, a man Karl had never met, tried to chair the meeting, but Herr Vogelfluss’ enthusiasm overwhelmed him. The mayor’s questions and concerns were overridden at each turn. Eventually, Vogelfluss looked down the table to Karl.

Karl looked aghast at each man. “I’ve never heard a more disorganized, delusional plan in my life.”

“If I didn’t know you were all sane, I’d suggest you all needed treatment for group hysteria,” St. Johannes added.

A harsh murmur went around the table. Deertz spoke up. “And, what would you have us do, _Colonel_ Klenzendorf? Surrender?”

Karl look at St. Johannes and back to Deertz. “Yes! It’s the only rational option.”

St. Johannes nodded. “I’m not a maneuver officer, but I did pay attention over the years. This is the brink of insanity. Just numerically—”

“We can hold off the Americans, if we redeploy to the west,” Colonel Hoffmann declared, as he had repeatedly for an hour.

St. Johannes hit his hands on the table. “They have three divisions moving this direction! We have the remnants of one. I’m a doctor, and even I understand those odds!”

“The Americans aren’t the threat!” Karl stood up in frustration. “Everyone of us here knows that if the Soviets get here first, all of us go up against the wall. And, maybe we should. Maybe it is time for a clean slate. _We_ have lived through three Germanys. _We_ are responsible for releasing this fucking nightmare of war, hunger, disease, and death on our own children and these young men, and it isn’t going to get better by falling to the Russians. Our only defense is to put the Americans between us and them. And, if that means everyone here ends up arrested, then at least the Americans will give us fair trails and cigarettes before hanging us.”

Deertz sneered. “Defeatist to the end, Klenzendorf. We should put you up against a wall for treason right now.”

Karl’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? Who knew we’d get to common sense as treason?” He pulled out his pistol, checked for a round in the chamber, then slid it spinning down the table. “I’d like to be shot with my own pistol. It’s a clean gun that doesn’t have innocent blood on it.” Karl looked around the room. The men all shirked from the gleaming pistol, except for Hoffmann. He appeared to be considering it. “Go on. Someone be brave. Do it. If you want, I’ll stand in front of an open window so that the brains don’t fly around the room.”

Hoffmann stood up and reached for the pistol. Deertz glared at Karl, who stepped away from St. Johannes and stood at attention, his eyes hard on Hoffmann. The SS colonel pushed the pistol back to Karl’s end of the table, where St. Johannes caught it.

The doctor stood up and handed Karl his pistol. “We have hardly any sanitizer, sulfa drugs, sedatives, morphine, or anesthetic. Whichever army rolls up, I’m surrendering the hospital. I’m a doctor, a Christian, a German, and an officer. Wasting lives wasn’t part of any oath I’ve ever taken.”

Karl slid his gun into the holster. “My orders are to hold the old border against forces from the east. My oath is to Germany and her people. If the Americans get here first, I’m surrendering the regiment and all subordinate units to them. If the Russians arrive first, we’ll hold the border until the last possible moment. The _Volkssturm_ and the SS can do as they like, but there is value in a town that is still standing versus one that has been shelled into rubble. I’ll likely be dead before summer’s end. You have to live here this coming winter.”

“You would abandon us, just like you abandoned Rosie Betzler,” Deertz accused. “I don’t know why I expected her to have any better taste in men than when she married. You’re a coward, just like her husband.”

Karl took a step toward Deertz, his hand on his pistol holster. St. Johannes grabbed Karl’s elbow. “Coward? You’re right. I was a fucking coward not to put two shots in your head and one in my own the morning I found her hanging on your gallows.”

Colonel Hoffmann uneasily but curiously looked from Karl to Deertz. He could only imagine the scandal he’d missed.

“You weren’t man enough to control her! A woman! Maybe if you had, she wouldn’t be dead!” Deertz yelled.

“Perhaps if you didn’t hang every person whose name passes through your gruesomely long yet paranoid fingers—”

“That’s enough!” St Johannes yelled and pulled Karl back. “Deertz, you came raving into my office about Klenzendorf months ago. I suggested sedation then, and I’m close to ordering you committed now. I outrank every damn one of you here! The Heer is surrendering if given the opportunity. Klenzendorf, let’s go! I can’t believe I’ve wasted my time on this lunacy!” The doctor half dragged and half shoved Karl out of the council room and down the stairs. Outside on the platz, he stared at Karl then slapped him on the head as he’d done to his sons on occasion.

“What was that for?” Karl asked as he put on his cap.

“Being an idiot. I know you loved her, but keep yourself together when dealing with these asses. Men like Hoffmann whisper you into a noose. People like Deertz will slit your throat in your sleep years later. Whatever grudge is between you two is damn near epic, probably relentlessly petty, and I doubt it was over a woman.”

Karl took out his cigarette case and offered one to St. Johannes. The Oberst was right, he’d lost control in the meeting and let it become personal. “I grew up the bastard son of a graf, benefitting from the wealth and privilege of nobility. His father was a very hard-working, honest plasterer who sent his son away to university for a respectable degree.” Karl lit his cigarette. “Which one of us still receives more respect and accolades from the average German?”

St. Johannes gestured across the platz at the Gestapo headquarters with his cigarette. “Well, maybe one of you shouldn’t have become the fucking town Inquisition. You’ve got another problem anyway.”

“What?” Karl started to walk back to his office where the Oberst had left his staff car.

“The boys. What do you think the Reds will do to them?”

Karl sighed. “I have been thinking about that. Do I have the authority to muster them out?”

“No, but I do. I can dismiss every one of them as being unfit to serve any longer due to health concerns. But, once they’re out, what do you do with them?”

Shaking his head, Karl looked around the platz. It was so dreary and gray despite the sun. “I don’t know. They don’t even have a change of clothes.” He inhaled form his cigarette and began coughing hard enough he had to stop walking.

St. Johannes put his hand on Karl’s shoulder. “I want to listen to your lungs when we get back.”

Karl nodded as his coughing fit subsided. He was tempted to use more Pervitin to counteract the daily fatigue that even a long night’s sleep with Freddie guarding the door wasn’t curing.


	10. Wednesday, May 2

Karl lay on the fainting couch at an unseemly hour of one in the afternoon. He wanted to go to bed but took aspirin and Pervitin to hopefully fight off the headache and chest ache he had.

“Sir,” Lieutenant Ludecke, the signal officer, said as he softly knocked on the open door. He and the other officers had muttered about how terrible Karl was looking. “Division on the phone for you.”

Karl gestured for the phone. “Bring it here.”

Ludecke thought this was a terrible sign of the commander’s health. He picked up the phone and moved it as far as the cord allowed. Karl took the receiver.

“Klenzendorf,” he said as he started to cough.

Florian frowned. “Karl, you sound terrible.”

“Spring cold. How can I help you, sir?”

“We’re surrendering to the 90th American Division. You’re included. Ceasefire commences at four pm. A Colonel Thomas Jackson will be down there with his two regiments tomorrow. The hospital is being surrendered at ten. They’ll come into town at noon. You are to safe, unload, and pile up all your weapons at 11:45 am. Have your rosters ready.”

“What about the town council?”

Florian sighed. “Try to convince them to surrender as well. Have them turn over all the weapons the Volkssturm has stockpiled.”

“And what about my boys?”

“Your little ones?”

“My under fifteens. I have about two hundred of them. I want them to be looked after by the Red Cross or the Church right where they are. No camp for them. We’ve abused them enough.”

“Let me call you back.”

“I swear I’ll muster every one of them out this afternoon. They’ll get two hundred kidnap victims all neatly stowed away in the _realschule_.”

“They’re already on one place?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll call back.”

Karl stretched to hang up the phone. Its harsh jangling woke him from a brief nap. “Yeah?”

“A little military courtesy won’t kill you, Karl,” Florian gently chastised. “Leave your boys in place. Don’t muster them out. There will be a platoon of American nurses and some of the schwesters from the hospital to check them out. They will be turned over to the Red Cross within forty-eight hours. They will not be sent to a detainee camp. General von Hess gave us his word.”

“Von Hess?”

“Yeah. I thought most Americans who had them dropped their _vons_ back in the last war. Your boys will be taken care of and gotten home as soon as possible.”

“Thanks, Florian.” Karl started coughing.

“You, me, and Freidrichstrasse, Karl. So, don’t die of a fucking cold the last day of the war.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Karl hung up a second time. He tried to sit up and laid back down. “Reinhardt! Get in here!”

Captain Reinhardt ran into Karl’s office. “Sir?”

“Command and Staff at two-thirty. We’re surrendering. And, call the mayor and Vogelfluss to come. I only want to explain this once.”

After a quiet and paltry dinner, Karl picked up a typewriter and hauled it to his desk. He closed the office doors almost all the way, and the staff could hear him typing. Captain Reinhardt looked over at Freddie. Freddie rolled his eyes. When anyone was afraid of Karl’s reaction, they looked to Freddie. Freddie got up and knocked on the doors. “Colonel, sir?”

Karl didn’t stop typing. “Come in.”

Freddie knew Karl could type. He just was unprepared for how fast Karl could type. “How are you doing, sir?” Freddie wanted to ask how Karl was feeling. Every day he looked paler, his eyes were redder, and he coughed more.

“Fine,” Karl answered dismissively. “Take the trunk at the foot of my bed over to the Betzlers’. Ask the kids to hang on to it for me. Put anything in it you want.”

Freddie glanced into Karl’s room. “I think maybe my sketchbooks.”

Karl nodded.

“What are you typing?”

“Letters to Rosie’s friends in America. I just hope I have enough stamps.”

“Why?”

Karl finally paused. “The American plan for Germany is to divide it into three barely sovereign entities then disarm, deindustrialize, and forbid the manufacture of anything. Anything. Our country can’t agriculturally support more than sixty million Germans. There are eighty million of us. One quarter of our population will be deported for slave labor or allowed to starve to death.[1] I’m not leaving Jojo and Inge in that. I expect to be one of the deportees if they don’t execute me. I won’t be here to look after them. So, I’m throwing them on the mercies of very old friends. Hopefully someone will be willing to take them in as impoverished refugees.”

Freddie nodded. “Yes, sir. You want me to take the trunk now?”

“Yes.”

Freddie turned around and snapped to another man. “Help me with the colonel’s trunk.”

Karl kept typing and half heard Freddie explaining that the colonel wanted his personal effects taken to his fiancée’s house. Karl closed his eyes and fought back the urge to think about Rosie for a while. Instead he fed an envelope into the typewriter. After addressing, filling, sealing, and stamping the three envelopes, he paperclipped a ten Reichsmark bill to each. He had no idea what mail service would look like after the Americans took over. He wanted to letters to go out even if he couldn’t personally send them.

Looking around, Karl put his hand in his pocket and felt his rosary. Taking it out, he rubbed his thumb over the dates engraved on the silver crucifix. He set the beads on his desk and took out one of the last sheets of writing paper he had. It had a _Jugend_ symbol embossed on it. Karl crossed that out then flipped the paper over to the back.

_Dear Johannes,_

_Take care of these for me._

_Your loving godfather,_

_Karl, Graf von Corten_

_Also, tell Inge to look in my trunk lid._

_K._

Rosie and Paul had never asked Karl to be Jojo’s godfather, but Rosie had mentioned it in bed one night that she wished he could have been and had always thought of him that way even when she hadn’t seen or heard from him in years. Karl stared at his real last name. It had been such a long time since he’d written it that it no longer flowed uniquely from his pen. It was as properly written as every other word. He folded the paper in half and sealed it in an envelope with the rosary and his last photo of Rosie. No one was going to ogle that photo. Karl wrote _Jojo Betzler_ on the envelope. He’d slip it in the mail slot during his morning rounds.

Getting up, Karl returned the typewriter to the outer office. The staff had cleaned up nicely. Whoever had this building next could assign desks and go to work within a few minutes. There was even a properly typed inventory in a file folder on the Gerti’s old desk. Most of the Nazi paraphernalia was packed away with the exception of the large portrait of Hitler. Karl smiled wickedly to think that was probably going to hang in some American soldier’s basement until it molded, and his wife tossed it on a trash heap. It’s what Hitler, his ideology, and his portrait had always deserved.

Karl made a quiet tour of the building before putting on his hat, gathering up Captain Reinhardt, and setting off to visit all the buildings around town where they were quartering troops. The general air was one of quiet resignation. Most of the men were repacking their paltry gear. There was every indication they would be road marched the seventy kilometers to Flossenburg in one or two days.

The officers had heard what was happening with German troops surrendering in the western areas of the Reich. They were being held in open air camps with little food or water and no shelter. They were not prisoners of war but disarmed enemy forces, which meant they had no Geneva Convention protections.[2] That was particularly why Karl had pressed for written agreements that the boys under sixteen would be immediately put in the care of the Red Cross or the Catholic Church. Karl had also written out a statement read to the men that they were under no obligation to confess to crimes as that was not how the American military justice system worked. He was delivering thousands of men into abject vulnerability. He wanted to give them as many tools to protect themselves as possible. 

Freddie was back from the Betzlers’ when Karl returned from his long walk around town. “The trunk is upstairs in the back bedroom,” Freddie reported.

“Did you tell them to stay out of the Americans’ way?” Karl asked as he sat down on the fainting couch. 

Freddie nodded. “Inge’s not doing well. She was really scared.”

Karl sighed. Elsa had reason to be frightened. She was a seventeen year old orphan girl. God only knew what was going to happen to her, or what she might have to do. Thinking about Elsa surviving how Rosie had survived turned Karl’s stomach. “Hopefully, I’m wrong about Paul, and he’ll be sent home soon. If not, there are the letters.” Karl vaguely gestured to the letters precisely stacked on his clean desk. He looked up at Freddie for a moment and patted the fainting couch next to him. 

Freddie looked nervously into the outer office. No was out there. He closed the doors to Karl’s office and then sat down next to him. Karl put his arm around Freddie, and Freddie laid his head on Karl’s shoulder. “It’s going to be ok, isn’t it, Karl?”

“I don’t know, Finkie. I don’t know. But, we could make it a lot worse by not surrendering. There’s nowhere to go.”

“What are they going to do with us? After the last war, they just let everyone go home.”

Karl shook his head. “We might not get to go home soon. Germany tore the world apart. A lot of countries want more than a pound of flesh.”

Freddie lifted his legs onto the couch and put his head in Karl’s lap. “I’m glad I stayed with you even if it does end this way.”

“Me, too,” Karl said quietly as he stroked Freddie’s hair.

“Despite you being a pain in the ass.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“Karl, how old were you the first time you put sheets on your own bed?”

Karl sighed. “Twenty-nine.”

Freddie giggled. “And, a private had to teach you. Karl, you are a complete pain in the ass. Every year I was asked if I wanted a reassignment.”

Karl’s looked out of the corner of his eye. “Really?”

Freddie chuckled. “I was offered a cushy job in Berlin, recruiting district in Dortmund, indoctrination camp in Dresden, but I chose you.”

Karl was stunned. “You could have gone home, Freddie.”

Freddie turned over and looked up at Karl. “I wanted to stay with you.” He reached up and smoothed Karl’s unruly hair. “I still want to be with you. Always.”

Karl swept Freddie’s hair off his forehead. “You and I are going to stay together as long as possible. I promise, Freddie. And, if we do get separated,” Karl sighed, not knowing where to tell Freddie to look for him. “I’ll always stay in touch with the library here in Falkenheim.”

“Karl?”

“Yes?”

“Have you been wearing eyeliner and mascara lately?” 

Karl frowned some. Wearing eye makeup made him look more awake than he felt despite his careful use of Pervitin. “Has anyone said something?”

“No. Just wondering. Looks good on you. I mean, I wouldn’t go so far as to do any colored eye shadow or any but the most neutral color on your cheeks, but—”

“Freddie, how do you know so much about makeup?” Karl asked with a slight bit of suspicion.

Freddie held up his hand. “Five. Count them: one, two, three, four, five. Five sisters. I’d be suspicious of me if I didn’t know about makeup. Your hair, however, is utterly hopeless. I could shave you bald, and when the little wisps grew in, they’d still go in every different direction.”

[1] The Morgethau Plan, written by Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau, Jr., was an especially punitive plan for postwar Germany. It’s been called a planned genocide by critics. It proposed to divide, permanently cripple economically, and enforce pastoralizing the entire country of Germany. It was never actually implemented and formally abandoned in 1947.

[2] In order to avoid having to care for German soldiers, and because there was simply not enough food in Europe, those who surrendered after March 1944, were classified as disarmed enemy forces. The _Rheinwiesenlager_ were a low point in American treatment of enemy soldiers and compared unfavorably to Andersonville Prison from the US Civil War.


	11. Thursday, May 3

It was a quiet last night for the Wehrmacht in Falkenheim. Karl locked his office doors, and he and Freddie slept together in his bed in the alcove. He had the windows open and the shutters mostly closed so no one could see in, and they still got some air. The sex they had was as quiet and still as they could make it. Karl lay awake with his arm around Freddie. He didn’t know how Freddie could sleep. Karl listened to the quiet of the town. The bells still rang the hours, and the guards’ boots could be heard on the cobbles. Karl thought he heard the soft whirr of a bicycle. He definitely heard someone small run and bang on the door. The guards started talking loudly.

“LET ME GO! I HAVE TO TALK TO CAPTAIN K!” yelled a girl’s voice. 

Karl frowned and sat up. He barely shook Freddie. “Get dressed,” he whispered when Freddie mumbled. 

“LET ME TALK TO HIM NOW! IT’S IMPORTANT!”

Karl stepped into this underwear as he walked to the windows. He opened the shutters and leaned out. “What’s going on down there?” he yelled, then began coughing.

“CAPTAIN K! It’s important! Jakob said no one but you or the executive, whoever that is!”

“Magda? What…? Let her in.” Karl grabbed his trousers and pulled them on then his undershirt. He yanked a white blouse on top and went into his office barefoot. Freddie was half dressed as well. Karl paid that no mind. He unlocked his office doors to find Magda standing there. “What are you doing here?”

Magda held out a sheet of paper. “Jakob has a special radio.”

Karl arched an eyebrow as he took the paper. “What kind of radio?”

“The kind no one’s supposed to have. But, it was unplugged in the basement, I swear,” Magda added nervously. “He’s been messing with it, and he heard that tonight.”

Karl looked down at bad phonetic Russian. “Sergeant Finkle, get the staff up, get runners out to the bivouacs, and get everyone up! I want my forward observer posts all contacted! And, tell Reinhardt to call division and ask about known Russian units nearby! Magda, where’s this radio?”

Magda hunched up some. “He took it to the telegraph office.”

Karl went back to his room and yanked on his boots. He grabbed Magda by the arm and pulled her behind him as he left the office, taking the _kugelwagen_ keys. “You aren’t in trouble, Magda. But, why aren’t you at your aunt’s house?”

Magda grabbed Karl’s hand. “I don’t like my uncle,” she said softly in the stairwell.

Karl turned around and stared at her. “Your uncle?”

Magda looked down at her shoes but held more tightly to Karl’s hand. “I don’t…like the way…he hugs me.”

Karl angrily sighed. Maybe he could arrange for Magda’s uncle to be providentially shot if things went wrong in the morning. “Have you and Aggy been going to work with your brother?”

Magda nodded. 

“Alright. We deal with that later. Come on.” Karl put Magda in the _kugelwagen_ and sped over to the telegraph office. He found Jakob Gotthard with headphones on trying to transcribe Russian, a language he knew nothing about. He gave Karl the headphones and the pencil. Karl sat down and listened for a few moments. “ _Gottverdammt_ ,” he muttered repeatedly as he made notes. 

Magda tried to peer over Karl’s shoulder. When he noticed her, he only asked for a map. After ten minutes, Karl took off the headphones. “Jakob, how tall is the aerial here?”

“Ten meters, sir. Are they transmitting in the open?”

Karl nodded. “They must have radio problems. We have a twenty meter aerial at the office. And, where is Ceske Budejovice?”

Magda opened a local atlas. “It’s right here. It’s about seventy kilometers across the border.”

Looking back to Jakob, Karl asked, “What’s the road like?”

Jakob shrugged. “Magda used to ride the trains with Papa.”

Surprised, Karl looked over at Magda, who answered. “Papa always said it was a good one. It’s got room for two trucks to pass each other. The railway crossings are smooth and don’t have gates. There’s a little bit of hills between Horazdovice and Klatovy, but it wasn’t hard for the train.”

Karl couldn’t believe he was taking intelligence from a fifteen year old map aficionado. “Jakob, I need to move this radio to our headquarters. Can you come with me?”

Jakob nodded. “Yes, sir. But, Aggy and Magda have to go home.”

“We’ll take care of that.”

Karl took a deep breath to try and settle his cough. He held the phone receiver between his ear and shoulder while pouring himself some whiskey. “Florian, I don’t care what your intelligence says. I’ve got a fully armed and operational Russian motorized infantry regiment headed this way with two full artillery companies. I’ve been listening to them on the radio all night!”

Florian looked at the clock in the division’s impromptu headquarters in the Weiden rathaus. It was six am. The surrender took effect at noon. “How close are they?”

“Four, five hours at most.”

Florian looked over at General Wehrmann. The man sighed. “He’s sure they’re coming to Falkenheim?”

“Last open road into Bavaria. Prague, Plzen, Falkenheim, Regensburg. Straight shot. Put a Soviet division there, and they bottle up all the Heer units trying to leave Czechoslovakia. It’ll be like shooting BBs at silhouettes in the Tiergarten.”

“Tell him to hold the border. Fuck the surrender. I’ll get on to that American General von Hess and hope to get this mess sorted out.”

Florian nodded. “Karl, your orders, and I quote are: _Hold the border. Fuck the surrender_.”

Karl groaned. “Yes, sir. 189th out.” Karl stood up from the radio. His staff was looking around nervously. The flurry of activity in the last four hours had discombobulated them. Just as they were preparing to surrender, they were being attacked. “Our orders are to hold the old border. Surrender takes a backseat. Majors Jürgens and Fechtner, get your companies out there and prepare for a full attack from the east. Maybe the SS will prove their worth first.”

A lieutenant cleared his throat as he approached Karl. “ _Oberstleutnant_ , sir, the SS regiment just radioed they have orders to join up with Second Panzer Division and go to reinforce Plzen. They’re moving out, now.”

Karl’s eyes widened and then dangerously narrowed. “How convenient,” he hissed. “Where’s my artillery commander? I want everything pointed at Kdnye. Tell them to blow a hole in that road so deep the dragon in Furth can fly out of it.”

The majors looked at each other. “And how big is that?”

Karl threw up his hands. “Humongous. Gigantic. Think Fafnir’s big brother. And, call the hospital. Let them know to expect casualties from artillery starting around nine am. And someone get me Vogelfluss!”

Herr Vogelfluss hadn’t been in an active regimental headquarters since 1918 when he was a seventeen year old private. He was shocked at both the foul language and the speed at which these young men moved and made decisions. He also had never seen Karl in his true element—managing chaos. 

“Herr Vogelfluss, we have a Russian motorized regiment with artillery coming our way. Our orders are to hold the old border. The _Volkssturm_ may form our rear line on the marktplatz. If the Russians get that deep into the town, we’re done for. When we move back, you move back. If we go forward, you go forward. However, you are under strict orders to cease fire and surrender to any American. Do you understand that?”

Vogelfluss blinked hard a few times. “You want us to fight and surrender?”

Karl didn’t have time for this. “I want you to fight the Russians if they arrive first and surrender to the Americans when they arrive. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you have radios?” Karl hadn’t really bothered getting a firm notion of what the _Volkssturm_ had and didn’t have.

“Yes, but not very strong ones.”

“Can you use them?”

“We’ve practiced with them some on the weekends.”

Karl looked across his office to the regimental signal officer. “Lieutenant Ludecke, send a sergeant with Herr Vogelfluss to make sure his radios are set to a frequency we can use.” Turning back to the small man, Karl eyed him harshly. “Listen to me. Our surrender signal is _Fallblau_.[1] When I give it, that’s it. You turn and run like hell to an American. Got it?”

Vogelfluss felt absolute command from Karl’s bad eye. “Yes, sir. _Fallblau_.”

“What’s the surrender signal?”

“ _Fallblau_.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Run like hell into the arms of an American.”

Karl’s bad eye eased some. “Make sure everyone understands that. And, I don’t want to see a bunch of kids out there with guns. You pull that shit, and if we both survive, I’ll beat you into next week.”

“Yes, sir, Herr Oberst.”

Karl sternly stared at Vogelfluss. “Good man. Who’s going with Herr Vogelfluss?”

A sergeant raised his hand and took him away to check his radios.

At eight am, Karl called the artillery company commander. “Lieutenant Keppler, you have your target coordinates?...Blow a hole in that road. If the Russians want to get into town, they’ll have to walk.”

Lydecke, the signal officer, jumped up from the knot of men running the radios. “Sir, Division on the radio for you.”

Karl walked over and took the headphones. “Klenzendorf.”

“Karl, Florian. The Americans are quick marching down there. They may set a speed record. If you are shooting, they will shoot back.”

“What if I’m not shooting at them?”

“Karl, the Russians are their allies! When the Americans get there, ceasefire immediately! That’s an order!”

“Yes, sir, General Eichhorst.”

Grundmann, the radioman, grabbed Karl’s elbow as soon as he took a breath. “Sir, the company at the coal yard is being pummeled.”

Karl looked over his shoulder. “Tell Major Jürgens to get another company or at least a platoon over there!” Karl would like to find Colonel Hoffman and strangle him. His withdrawal from the outer defense of Falkenheim left the town overly exposed. Hoffman’s regiment had twice the men and equipment as Karl’s. Karl turned his attention back to the map Captain Reinhardt was furiously marking and also pulled his pocket watch out. It was ten am. 

Reinhardt looked up. “The Americans are at the hospital,” he said, hanging the telephone on his shoulder. “ _Oberst_ St. Johannes just surrendered.”

Karl gestured for the phone. “Hello? This is _Oberstleutnant_ Klenzendorf. Who is this?” he asked in German. He heard English on the other end of the line. “Hey, American soldier!” he yelled in English. “Go get me a colonel or a major! Yes, I’m German, and I speak English!”

Reinhardt stared. 

Karl rolled his eyes. “Everyone retreat west, Reinhardt! Now!”

Grundmann waved at Karl. “Sir, First Battalion has all their companies notified as far as they can. Second isn’t responding at all!”

“ _Gottverdammt_!” Karl yelled into the telephone receiver. “Yes! I’m German, and I speak English! Who are you! Where is Colonel Thomas Jackson?”

Reinhardt was trying to contact the Second Battalion companies. “I can’t get Second Battalion command at all.”

Karl ignored that. The command post was probably hit by artillery. He listened on the phone while snapping his fingers for Freddie. “Finkle, get a squad together out of this CP. We’re heading for Second Battalion.”

Freddie looked around him and grabbed up ten men while Karl still held on to the phone receiver.

“Colonel Jackson! Why the hell do I have Russians shelling and assaulting me! This is not the ceasefire or surrender that was negotiated!” Karl yelled into the phone. “Then you figure out a way to stop them because I was ordered specifically hold the border and to engage any Russian who shot at or crossed our perimeter!....They’re your allies!” Karl grabbed the MP28 within reach. “Listen to me! You know our radio frequency and channels. I’m ordering the surrender of my men to you not the Russians. They will keep fighting Russians until an American gets to them. The code is _Fallblau._ ” Karl hung up the phone and looked over to see Freddie and the squad he’d assembled. They all had as much ammunition as they could carry and was left.

Reinhardt stared at Karl. “You’re leaving?”

Karl nodded. “I’m going out to where Second Battalion should be and make sure they’re retreating. You hold down here. Surrender the second you see an American.” He turned to Grundmann. “Grundmann, give me the headset.”

Grundman slowly took off his headset and handed it to Karl, who put it on. “ _Fallblau. Fallblau_ ,” he said calmly and clearly. “All Wehrmacht and _Volkssturm_ in Falkenheim gemeinde _Fallblau. Fallblau._ I repeat, _Fallblau. Fallblau._ 189th commander signing off.” Karl handed the headset back to Grundmann as he turned to Reinhardt. “The only order you give anyone from now on is to retreat west and surrender to the Americans. I don’t care if the ghost of Adolf Hitler himself comes back. You disobey me, and I’ll fucking rip your throat out.”

Reinhardt was already pale. “Yes, sir. Surrender is our only order.”

“Stay on the radio and phone with the Americans. Jakob here speaks good enough English. Get them to get the Russians to pull back.”

Reinhardt looked over at Jakob. “Yes, sir.”

Karl nodded. He picked up an old sub-machine gun and put on his helmet, fastening the strap. “Alright then. Sergeant Finkle, let’s go do this.”

“Javohl, Oberst K.”

Karl threw himself against a wall to avoid being knocked off his feet from the artillery shaking the ground. He looked behind him. They still had the whole squad. “Ok, across this platz, straight out then we’re straight down what used to be hauptstrasse,” he yelled to his men. Another artillery shell landed nearby, and Karl would have sworn the very air was made of bullets. He lit a cigarette and clamped it in his mouth. “Holy Christ where did all these Russians come from? Let’s move.”

The men ran out past Karl, Freddie and the radioman. The radioman went first, then Karl and Freddie. As they ran across the platz, Karl vaguely saw the shapes of men, women, and even children holding weapons and running forward. He could hear the steel, stone, and splinters flying through the air. Running over rubble, Karl looked to his right. Standing in the middle of the platz, still as a rabbit amid barking dogs, stood Jojo Betzler.

Karl stared, for a millisecond that felt like a minute. “JOJO! GO HOME!”

Jojo didn’t move. 

“JOJO! GO HOME! NOW! MOVE!” Karl briefly looked in front of him and shot two Russians running across his line of sight. He looked back at Jojo. “GO HOME! JOJO!” Karl heard Freddie shooting off to their left. He couldn’t stay there any longer or he’d be dead. He had to keep up with this squad. He could only hope that Jojo would come to his senses and run. He gave the boy one last look. “JOJO! RUN!”

Freddie took out a Russian. “Karl, we have to move!”

Karl closed his eyes for a moment as he ran forward, overcoming the instinct to grab Jojo and get him to safety and abandoning the squad and its mission to inform Second Battalion to retreat. Karl and Freddie made it across the platz and joined up with the squad. The men covered each other from each side of the street, firing at movement when they saw it. Karl, Freddie and the radioman, paused in an alley to try and contact any of the companies in Second Battalion.

“Still nothing,“ the radio man said as Karl shot another Russian. 

“Where the fuck did all these Reds come from?”

Freddie looked around the corner. “We have to go,” he said before firing several times.

Karl pushed the radioman back. “Finkle, follow me.” Karl ran down the street, easily seeing the squad waiting for them at the corner of the next block. The storefronts were blown open and rubble lay in the street. They dodged the ankle breaking bricks and blocks. Karl saw the men he was running to suddenly crouch down and heard the whistling.

“Karl!”

Karl felt a body fly into his back just as an artillery shell exploded into the building across from them. Once the dust and grit stopped falling, Karl pushed himself off the ground. He looked behind him to see Freddie lying face down and covered in blood. 

“Freddie!” Karl grabbed Freddie by the shoulders and turned him over. “Freddie!” He looked up to see the terrified panic of the radioman. “Go! Go with the squad!” Karl looked over his shoulder. “Keep going!” he motioned.

The other sergeant suddenly nodded his head, yelled something, and got the squad moving. Karl dragged Freddie into a blown out room. It could have been anything: a shop, an office, maybe even a living room. He gently laid Freddie on his back. Karl looked at his hands. They were covered in Freddie’s blood. Freddie’s sky blue eyes blinked at Karl. He tried to breathe and only gasped. 

Karl yanked a bandage out of his pocket. He turned Freddie over a bit and tried to stop the blood spreading from Freddie’s back. 

Freddie raised his hand enough that he could grab Karl’s arm. He wanted to breathe so badly. “I love you,” he was barely able to whisper.

Karl took a deep but wavering breath. He could feel Freddie’s warm blood soaking through the bandage. He knew there was nothing he could do. The hole in Freddie’s back was larger than his palm and deeper. “I love you, too.” Karl’s eyes blurred with tears. He wiped them away. “You were always better than me. I never deserved you.”

Freddie’s ragged breath almost sounded like a chortle. “I love you,” he could only mouth. 

Karl nodded. He embraced Freddie as best he could. “I love you. I don’t want to be without you.” He felt Freddie’s last breath, and Freddie’s body go limp. He looked at Freddie’s eyes, no longer so bright. Karl bent his forehead to Freddie’s shoulder and screamed. He brushed the damp blonde hair away and closed Freddie’s eyes with his palm. He didn’t want to leave Freddie here alone. He saw his tears drip on Freddie’s cheek and felt them running down his own. He took a deep breath before kissing Freddie’s forehead a last time. 

He stared up at the broken ceiling as if that might stop the tears then back to Freddie. Karl ripped his Iron Cross First Class from his pocket and pushed it into Freddie’s uniform. “You deserved this more than I ever did, Freddie.” He kissed Freddie’s cooling forehead one last time before picking up Freddie’s rifle and pistol as well as his own and leaving. He ran maniacally down the street, shooting at anything and everything. His squad was amazed that a forty year old man could run that fast and that agilely.

“Sir, we’ve been able to radio the two companies to retreat. But, they have a machine gun squad two blocks up that’s almost cut off.”

Karl noticed that he’d lost his cigarette. He wondered if he’d swallowed it. He lit a cigarette quickly, coughing as he inhaled. “Ok, let’s go. We’ll cover them coming out of their position.”

The sergeant led the squad up the street. Karl was happy to let someone else lead. He covered the radioman. As they hunkered down on two corners, Karl could see that the machine gun crew was holding off nearly an entire platoon of Russians. In the grand scheme of this little battle, it meant nothing. The Germans were surrendering to the Americans behind them and fighting for their lives in front. But, holding off that platoon was everything to the four men manning the gun. 

Karl put his hand on the sergeant’s shoulder. “Cover me.”

“Sir?”

“Cover me!” Karl yelled as he launched himself toward the machine gun’s sandbagged nest. He ran low and dove over the sandbags to the surprise of the crew. One of them nearly stabbed him with a bayonet. “Go!”

The gunner didn’t turn around. “We can’t let them through.”

Karl got as close to the gunner’s ear as he could. “I’m a colonel, and I am ordering you to retreat. I’ll man the gun.”

The gunner’s eyes jerked toward Karl. “You, sir?”

“Yeah, me. GO! That’s an order.”

“You need a feeder.”

“Corporal, get the hell out of this machine gun nest and fall back now!” Karl pushed the gunner from his position and took over operation of the gun. “You take care of your men! Don’t wait for me!”

The gunner stared at Karl for a moment but picked up his own rifle. He saw Karl’s impromptu squad begin to give them cover fire and followed his three mates. Back on the corner, the German soldiers waited for Karl. Karl glanced over his shoulder, then gave them a hand motion to retreat. He more emphatically waved and chopped with his hand. The men briefly exchanged glances.

“Is he coming?” the radioman asked.

The machine gunner shook his head. “He said not to wait.”

The sergeant didn’t want to leave Karl, but one officer or nine men? “He knows what he’s doing. I’m pretty sure he can take care of himself. Let’s go.”

Karl used judicious amounts of fire to keep the Russians from advancing in front of him. He needed to avoid overheating the barrel while waiting for Americans to hopefully come rescue him. If he survived long enough to run out of ammunition, he decided he would just quietly roll out the back of the machine gun nest and run as quickly as he could to the American line. The platoon Karl was firing on angrily searched their gear and discovered no more hand grenades. Two men volunteered to go a few streets out of the way, come up on the machine gun from behind, and shoot the gunner. Karl saw two men leave the group and successfully shot one. He anticipated an attack from the rear.

As the surviving Russian ambusher approached the machine gun, a large artillery shell called in by the Russian platoon leader hit in the platz. Karl was knocked out when he hit the cobblestones as the pressure wave blew over him. The Russian ambusher was hit with debris and bled out. The Russian platoon ran onward, with a fire team sent to capture the gun. Karl was just coming to when he heard Russians yelling and running in the gravelly rubble. He pulled his knife and his pistol. Four young Russians ran to the nest assuming Karl was dead, and he popped up to shoot three of them. Two went down for good. The remaining unwounded Russian aimed his rifle at Karl but was shot in the arm. He held on to the rifle though and charged forward at Karl. The Russian’s trigger finger wouldn’t work. Karl shot the man again and didn’t have time to reload before the rifle butt swinging soldier was on him. Karl lunged low and forward as the soldier swung his rifle and managed to stab the young man in the side. 

The Russian platoon leader noticed the mini-melee across the platz and grabbed three men to go with him. When they were halfway there, they saw their comrade was bleeding from a gruesome rip in his side, and Karl had cleared the gun barrel. The four went down in a short rippling of bullets. Hunkered down in the nest, Karl continued to fire at every Russian who crossed his path. Another platoon was sent into the area to capture the gun. This time they divided into four teams, and only by virtue of overwhelming force and Karl running out of ammunition were they able to finally subdue him.

Karl didn’t leave the nest easily. He was surrounded by Russians too close to one another to use rifles. They piled on top of him, but Karl got in as many close shots with his pistol and ripping stabs with his knife. A few Russians came away with four puncture wounds in their faces from the trench knife as Karl resorted to fist fighting. A private was able to get Karl’s helmet off of him, and another finally hit him in the head with a full swing of his rifle butt. Karl collapsed. They stared down at the old German man.

Panting, the platoon leader pulled out his pistol but didn’t fire. “Damnit. He’s a colonel. They’re going to want to interrogate him.”

“Are you sure we can’t kill him?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “No, because one of you will get drunk and talk about the crazy old colonel in the machine gun nest we shot after knocking him out. Then I’ll end up in front of a firing squad if I’m lucky or Siberia if I’m not. Tie him up and make sure to disarm him, but don’t take anything. You know how the intelligence officers like to scoop up all the good stuff as if it’s so important to see a photo of every German’s girlfriend.”

Karl stirred, and the lieutenant kicked him in the head to quiet him.

Nikolai Ozerov looked down at the exhausted man sitting on the rubble in the garden. He had two black eyes and cuts on his cheeks. There was a rifle butt impression in the bruise on his temple. Dried blood flaked under his nose. His hair stuck up at all angles, but Nikolai thought that might be natural. This one had gone down hard.

Karl looked up at the Russian intelligence officer. “ _Dobry den **[2]**,_ major.”

Nikolai looked at Karl and then at Karl’s _soldbuch_. He watched Karl’s eyes for a moment and wondered how blind Karl’s bad eye was. Nikolai felt like that eye might see differently. “ _Oberstleutnant_ Klenzendorf, you have had a very exciting career.” He spoke in German. 

Karl weakly smiled. “A boring one might have been more welcome,” he replied in Russian. “Sit down. I’d offer you a drink, but I’m short a flask. I hope whoever got it enjoys that whiskey.”

Nikolai tried not to smile. “You didn’t rip out all the incriminating pages of your _soldbuch_. Warsaw, France, Moscow, Stalingrad, Kursk. Lots of commendations and awards. A regular hero of the Reich. One might wonder, though, what you were up to in between those big battles, how you spent your occupation duty.”

“Inconspicuously,” Karl said with a conspiratorial smile. “And, with quite a few lovely young women. Always willing, of course.”

“Of course.” Nikolai thumbed through the book again. He saw that Karl’s parents were unmarried and dead. “Illegitimate son of a nobleman.”

“He was quite useless. The only skills he had were hunting, fishing, and taking advantage of young girls hired to serve the household.” But, suddenly thinking about his real father, Franz-Jozef, brought tears to Karl’s eyes. His father had been the best man in the world.

Nikolai affectionately tapped Karl on the head with the soldbuch. “In Russia you would have been quite the bitter communist,” he said. Nikolai opened Karl’s cigarette case, confiscated from him. “These are American,” he said as he took one out and lasciviously sniffed it.

Karl nodded. “Enjoy them. Keep the case. It’s silver. It has a little spot for engraving I never bothered with.”

“No photos?” In Nikolai’s experience Germans kept photos in their cigarette cases, especially the officers.

Karl shook his head. “They aren’t for you ogle.”

Reaching into his pocket, the Russian pulled out Karl’s trench knife. “Where did you get this knife? You did quite a lot of damage with it.” 

“Some old shop back in the 1920s. It’s an American Mark 1 trench knife from the Great War. You never knew when you’d be jumped by some little gang or another in the streets. It’s kissed its share of German communists and fascists when I was young. It will be just the thing to tantalize your sons and grandsons while you tell your war stories.”

Nikolai felt the temptation of Karl’s languid charm. Karl was as friendly, mannerly, and seductive as a prisoner as he would be sitting in a café chatting with a stranger. Had there been more time in this war, Nikolai knew he wouldn’t execute Karl too quickly. He’d ply Karl with cigarettes and coffee until the day his superiors insisted he give up his German friend, who hadn’t bothered to save himself by giving up any useful intelligence. “You know how this ends, don’t you, Colonel?”

Karl shrugged. “The woman I love is dead. The man I love is dead, for that matter. My family disowned me years ago. My business was destroyed. Even my old apartment is probably rubble by now. If you want to torture me, tell me to go home and have a happy life.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want anyone to accuse me of being inhumane. Sit quietly, and don’t cause trouble, hmm? We’ll get this finished up in a dignified manner.” Nikolai tucked the _soldbuch_ into Karl’s top pocket. “Behave yourself.”

Karl gently smiled and nodded a bit. He watched the young officer walk away to a knot of smoking Russians. Karl was too tired in his soul to run or devise an escape. He wished they’d just get it over with. Waiting around for his execution was tedious. He kept track of the numbers of German prisoners and where the Russians were. This place was behind a wall, but it was too open to the street. He assumed there was a more private courtyard or garden, somewhere a passing woman couldn’t look in and scream.

“Captain K.”

Karl’s stomach wrenched and turned cold to hear that confused, young voice. He looked up to see Jojo wearing his _Jugend_ hat and a disgustingly small _feldbluse_. Rosie was gone, and Jojo was the last bit of her furious glory left in the world. He absolutely would never let that last spark die, no matter what happened to him. “Heyya, kid.”

As the soldiers dragged Karl away, he was relieved a young Russian soldier grabbed Jojo and carried the struggling, protesting child toward the street. They probably assumed Jojo was his son or nephew. No adult would credulously fall for that Dirty Jew routine. Karl hoped when Jojo grew up he would understand why he betrayed and denigrated him like a Judas. It was the best he could do.

The Russians threw Karl into the sparse grass while Karl could still hear Jojo yelling for him. Karl barely lifted his head before he was kicked repeatedly. All that mattered was that Jojo’s voice had drifted away. Gasping at the pain, he coughed blood violently from his lips and rolled onto his side. He saw German soldiers being lined up. There was a heavy set man on one side of the small inner courtyard with a PPS-42 sub-machine gun fitted with a box magazine. He was smoking and impatiently waiting.

“ _Proklyatye_ ,[3]” Karl groaned as he tried to get up. He wiped his bloody mouth on his filthy sleeve.

A soldier kicked him back to the ground. “What do you have to say, Nazi?”

“You’ve only got one shooter with thirty-five rounds,” Karl continued in Russian. “That’s a terrible method to massacre prisoners. You know how many might survive?”

The young Russian kicked Karl again. “Shut up.”

A lieutenant walked over. “Tovarishch, what’s the issue with this one?”

The soldier rolled his eyes. “Tell him,” he snapped at Karl.

Karl held up two fingers. “You need at least two shooters, or you’re going to have survivors.”

The lieutenant was a thin, rangy man raised on paltry food and excessive fear that he cycled into cynical hate. “Yeah? You don’t think we know how to kill Nazi’s the right way?” he asked with a smile. “Let me show you. We’ll shoot you last.” The lieutenant walked over to the soldier with the submachine gun and spoke to him. 

The shooter nodded and lifted the weapon to his shoulder. 

“Ready,” the lieutenant yelled, giving his men time to get out of the way. “Fire!”

The Russian shooter sprayed the Germans with rounds, sending all of them to the ground. He changed magazines and shot the heap of bodies again. Reaching for a third magazine, he shot a third time.

The lieutenant returned to Karl. “You think anyone’s alive now?”

Karl looked up at the severe face smiling down at him. He took a deep breath and began coughing again. 

“Get him up!” the lieutenant yelled. 

Two soldiers hauled Karl to his feet. Karl tried to stand up straight, but he hurt so much it was too much of an effort. Karl began to slump back only to brace himself against the trunk of a chestnut tree. He kept his eyes on the young Russian officer. Maybe he would be that young man if their lives had been swapped. Karl smiled a little.

“You think this is amusing?” the lieutenant took out his Tokarev pistol. He jerked his head at the two privates flanking Karl, and they stepped away.

Another private came running into the small courtyard. “Lieutenant Zhukov, Major Ozerov says to withdraw now. This town was promised to the Americans.”

Zhukov aimed at Karl’s still smiling face and fired as Karl began coughing again. Karl heard the loudest sound he’d ever heard and fell to the ground, blood streaming out of his skull. The Russians casually left the yard, never looking back or concerned they might be questioned about a pile of dead Germans.

Karl opened his eyes. He was standing in a broad, brilliantly green meadow dappled with wildflowers beneath a perfect summer sky. The barest streaks of high white clouds sparkled overhead, and alpine peaks shimmered on the horizon. He looked around for a perfect blue lake in a small dell and found it. He wasn’t anywhere he’d ever been, but he knew everything he was seeing around him. He held up his hands, spreading his scraped and bloody fingers. He also could only see out of his left eye. Testing that he was really still blind on the right, he covered his left eye and saw nothing.

“You silly thing. Of course, you’re still blind. Even the Allfather remained blind.”

Karl smiled at that voice. He turned to his right as long golden-red strands of silky hair tickled his cheek. Her hair was long and loose, shifting around her face and shoulders. Her bare arms and shoulders were a luminous ivory. The silvery gold, or golden silver, tabard she wore sparkled with gemstone beads. It was a more gorgeous dress than any dress she had worn out dancing with him. She’d never had an ornate sword when they made their raucous rounds of Berlin’s old nightlife. Nor had she ever worn a lapis blue cape secured by dancing Chinese dragons; though Karl thought she might have once had a coat that color with a white fur shawl.

“I’m not sure the fur goes with the dress or these boots.”

Karl watched the tabard flutter away from her calves to reveal boots made of silver greaves. Karl reached out for her and slid his dirty hands over her cheeks and into her hair. “My darling Rosie is a Valkyrie.” 

“Well, when your parents name you after one, you can’t expect much less,” Brynhild quipped. 

Karl kissed her forehead. He looked down at himself, filthy, blood-spattered, ripped _feldbluse_ hanging open, torn trousers, muddy boots, and a sumptuous red cape. “I don’t look much like Siegfried. And, shouldn’t you have wings?”

“I’m a Valkyrie not a swan maiden,” Brynhild sniffed. But, she winked and with a near silent whoosh, raptor wings unfolded behind her. The translucent feathers of pure white light refracted tiny shards of rainbows at the tips. The wings refolded beneath the blue cape. 

Looking over his red-caped shoulder, the ruffling silk dropped in the waning breeze, revealing Karl’s body fallen beneath the chestnut tree. “I thought Valkyries chose those slain in battle, not summary execution.”

Brynhild turned Karl’s face back to her. “You were chosen a long time ago.”

He closed his eyes at the warmth of her hand on his cheek. “Where’s Freddie?”

Another hand slid along Karl’s shoulders. “Here and thankful I’m not dressed up like some Wagnerian toff.” Freddie ran his hand through Karl’s still unruly hair. Freddie was wearing what Freddie always wore: a starched green uniform shirt with the sleeves turned up and grey trousers with braces. He affectionately pulled Karl’s cheek to his shoulder. 

Karl wrapped an arm around Freddie, embracing him. “I loved both of you,” he whispered. “I loved both of you the best.”

“I know, Karl,” Freddie assured him with a kiss. “But, I’m still a sergeant, and I still work for a living.”

Karl wanted to hold onto Freddie, but a cat swirling around their ankles distracted him. When Karl looked around again, both Freddie and the cat were gone. Karl felt Brynhild’s hands on him, and he turned his attention back to her. “The lives of the mortal lovers of Valkyries always turn out so well,” he reminded her with gentle sarcasm.

Brynhild smiled, and her sapphire eyes glittered as she kissed Karl’s lips. “But, they are all heroes.”

He looked back at his body one more time: filthy, beaten, and bloody. His skin was chalk white, his cheeks sunken, and his eyes rimmed with dark circles. Blood trickled from his temple across his cheek. He had no desire to go back. He put his hand in Brynhild’s, and they walked to a silvery white horse grazing on wildflowers. The horse lifted his muzzle and nuzzled Brynhild while Karl easily mounted its back. He held his arm down to her.

Brynhild gazed adoringly at her hero. “Karl, this is _my_ magical, flying horse.”

Karl sheepishly pushed himself back from the horse’s withers, and Brynhild sat herself in front of him. Karl slid his arms around her then pressed his forehead on her bare shoulder. Every bit of her was so warm and consoling. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek as her hand slipped over his. “Can we go find Freddie?”

“Of course, we’re going to Freddie,” she answered turning her face to briefly catch his lips with hers. “You lov—“

An excruciating shudder ripped through Karl. He was nowhere, suffocated by an enormous, invisible weight. The void’s cold pierced through him and muffled then torturous screaming of men roared in his mind. The shrieking and grinding of hot metal overwhelmed the sounds of men, and trees wrenched and cracked in no breeze. The void relented for a moment, and Karl could see Brynhild and Freddie through the rippling water covering him, looking down at him as he struggled not to drown. He attempted to draw a breath, but nothing moved. They reached for him; their hands tantalizingly close. He fell further into the frigid blackness. Karl tried to lift his hand to them, tried to kick or push his way back upward. But, no part of his body responded. They watched him recede, holding hands with one another now. The void snapped shut. Karl fell through nothing, where he was nothing, saw and heard nothing. One last spark brilliantly flamed with a discordant squeal and instantly extinguished into silence. Everything was gone.

And, Karl opened his eyes.

_Ende_

[1] _Fallblau_ —Case Blue.

[2] Good day—Russian

[3] Goddamnit--Russian


	12. Thanks!

I want to say _Thank You_ , with sparkles and confetti, to everyone who read even a part of this. I wish I could have you all over for souvlaki, vegan keftedakia, and some really good Aegean whites, Moroccan reds, a couple fantastic Spanish rosés…. (I’ve got a lot of wine in the basement.)

I find it especially sad that Grandma Rosie, Papa Karl, and Uncle Freddie will never be playing cards and drinking one night during Hanukkah 1984, in the family room of Elsa’s house in Malibu, overlooking the Pacific, when one of the teenaged grandchildren slips this bootleg into the Beta-Max:

<https://tinyurl.com/y5927m4n>

Freddie leaps for the remote controls, cursing that there are too many of the damn things, and they never work anyway. Rosie asks Karl if he remembers that underground club on Orianienstrasse back in the day. And, Karl simply laughs as he yells in German, “Hey, Elsa, Jojo! Come look what the kids put in the video machine!” Switching to English and reaching for his wallet, “Who put that in there? Papa Karl has a twenty for you.”


End file.
